by RJ Johnson
“Some upper muckety muck Consortium sort got hisself killed on Rosetta. His son is supposedly coming in port to hire me.”
“Rosetta?” Emeline asked, her voice betraying the worry she felt. “Are you gonna have to go there?”
Meade nodded, “I imagine it'd be harder for me to solve the case if I'm stuck here on Mars. It'll be the first time I've been off-planet...” Meade sighed, “Well, ever.”
Meade finished his drink and Emeline poured him a rare fourth one. If Meade was shaking the dust off his boots to go off-planet, then he would need it.
“Sounds like quite a case.” Emeline moved closer and leaned in to Meade, “want some help?”
Meade's head was swimming. The three shots of Emeline's whiskey had gone down smooth. She was a master at distilling good whiskey. He had done his level best to figure out her secret, but she swore she was taking it to the grave. He suspected it was because she wanted him buying it from her in her bar rather than making it in his bathtub at home.
“I don't know how good I feel about dragging you all the way to Rosetta.” Meade said, not really sure if he meant it. According to the news reports, Rosetta was supposedly as safe as any of the orbital cities above Earth, at least, at least it was since they had opened up the interior living facility for the moles to live and work in. Plus, Koschei himself had personally moved his entire operations there and rumors were that his digs were nicer than anything found on Mars.
In fact, the more Meade thought about it, the better he liked the idea of Emily coming along. For one, Emeline had proven to be able to handle herself very well in combat situations in the past. She wasn't the type to lose her shit when people were shooting at each other and she was tough enough to kick Meade's ass if she really wanted to. Raised on Mars by her father (a former Coalition National Directive man himself), he had taught his daughter everything he knew about self-defense and special operations tactics. She was better at tending a bar, but that didn't mean Emeline didn't know how to take care of herself.
With Meade on Rosetta, Palmetto might seize the opportunity to use her against him. He had already used her once as leverage to get Meade to go along with his wishes and there was no telling what he would do to her with Meade far away on Rosetta.
“Why not?” Meade said, throwing back the rest of his drink, “Can't hurt to have an extra pair of eyes, maybe even keep me out of trouble.”
“I sincerely doubt that.” Emeline felt excitement course through her veins. He wanted her to come along! What did that mean? She was tough and rarely let her feelings interfere with her daily life, but whenever she got around Meade these days, she felt like a silly schoolgirl.
It didn't used to be that way. She had only recently discovered her feelings for him when he had nearly died saving her life a few years ago. Then, those feelings that had lain dormant within her over the years suddenly surfaced and became incredibly troublesome. Each night before she went to bed, her mind was filled with images of Meade's face, and when she woke up she wondered what, or who he might be with at that moment. It was a silly, stupid crush; one Emeline knew she had to squash before anyone got hurt. They had begun as rivals, then friendly rivals, and now, well, she wasn't sure what they were now, but their relationship had definitely taken a turn of sorts and she couldn't complain about that. Emeline knew that he cared for her, and for now, that was good enough.
“Well, don't get too excited, I don't know when this Atel Sinjakama is showing up, and he might not have room for us both on his ship, though from what Palmetto inferred, this Sinjakama is no lightweight.”
“You're thinking assassination?”
Meade shrugged, “I don't know what I'm thinking yet. Palmetto didn't exact have a lot of details, so I think I need his son to tell me what he knows before I have a good idea of what I'm up against.”
Emeline pointed to the door, “I think you're about to get your chance.”
A man, tall, thin and the spitting image of the man Meade had seen on Palmetto's viewscreen earlier that day walked into the bar. Impeccably dressed in the dark grays favored by Consortium citizens, Atel took after his father in both his bearing and figure. Spotting Meade from across the room, Atel Sinjakama crossed the bar and presented himself.
“Mr. James Meade?”
Meade leaned back against the bar, a smirk spreading across his face. “Depends.”
“My name is Atel Sinjakama.” Sinjakama looked around in disdain around the bar. “Is there perhaps a...” he cleared his throat, “cleaner place where we might conduct business?”
"He's insulting your bar Em."
"Harder than you think to keep a place clean when you get riffraff like him coming in all the time." Emily replied, ignoring Sinjakama. Her disgust for the Consortium officer was evident. Emily was a Coalition girl born and raised and despite what people said, Consortium and Coalition folk rarely got along. Too much blood and pain from bygone eras for most people to move past Meade figured.
Meade looked behind him at Emeline, amused at her insult. He turned and finished his drink. “You've never been to Mars before have you Mr. Sinjakama?”
“Doctor.” Atel corrected him, removing a clean napkin from his pocket and wiping the seat next to Meade careful to not touch any other surface of the bar. He sat cautiously against the bar stool as if unsure it would support his weight, or if something unsanitary lined the edge. “Doctor Sinjakama if you don't mind.”
“Oh, of course...” Meade's voice dropped a couple octaves as he began to mock Sinjakama. “What can I do for you DOCTOR?” Meade emphasized the word.
“I'd like to hire you."
"I'm expensive."
"I can pay it."
"I don't know..." Meade said, tilting his head. He might be under Palmetto's thumb on taking the case, but he wasn't about to make it easy for Sinjakama.
"Depends on the case, and some cases can be mighty expensive." Meade said drawing out the words.
"My father has been murdered.” Atel stared into Meade's eyes.
“I'm sorry to hear that. I don't reanimate the dead, but I hear you Consortium types are working hard on that."
Sinjakama's eyes crinkled and looked down ashamed at the floor. "I understand there are certain..." he paused searching for the right words, "animosities between our peoples, but my father was everything to my family and I promised my mother I would find out what happened to him."
Meade sighed. He was just a kid mourning his dead father. "Doc, I'm a what they call a Runabout around here, which may not mean much to you on the Homeworld, but around here, it means I don't give a damn about what flag you wear, what your people did to the Coalition or vice versa. I care about money, plain and simple."
Sinjakama opened his ArmBar and typed quickly. He turned the display so Meade could see what he had called up. It was his account balance and there were more zeros than Meade had ever seen.
"Mr. Meade, my family is quite wealthy and I can assure you I intend to find out what happened to my father. If you are not interested, I'm more than happy to find someone who would be."
Sinjakama began to rise from his seat and Meade clasped him on the arm stopping him. "All right, sit down, have a drink and tell me what happened."
Emeline flipped a tumbler onto the bar in front of Sinjakama and poured a generous shot. Some of the liquid spilled on the redwood bar and smoke rose from it. Sinjakama looked alarmed at the amber fluid and sat back down in his seat.
“Mr. Meade, what do you know about Rosetta?” Atel Sinjakama asked him, his voice low and conspiratorial. Meade took a moment to examine his new client before responding trying to get the measure of the man.
Sinjakama was someone who was used to the clean sterile environments of the orbital cities above the Homeworld. Whatever that had driven him here to Mars and onward to Rosetta was clearly sincere. His own loss suddenly came to mind, as he thought of his father's death, and the lies The Coalition had told him growing up. Sinjakama and he weren't exactly allies (Con
sortium and Runabouts never had much use for each other), but, they didn't exactly compete with each other either. The man's politics might be reprehensible, and his host nation capable of unspeakable offenses, but, even so, Meade felt something akin to compassion for Sinjakama, though he was ninety percent sure that it was just Emeline's whiskey that had helped mellow him out.
“Just what's on the wireless. Cheap ORI for the Consortium. They've certainly made an impression around here, what with the massive crater they created in Coalition profits over the last few months.” Meade lazily waved his arm around the bar filled with Moles who were there instead of in the deep mines of Mars getting their own slice of the ORI pie. “All these fellas probably know the score on that operation better than I do.”
“My father was hired by Koschei and his associates in Nebula Mining to complete a series of engineering tasks to finish up the interior living facilities on Rosetta."
Meade shrugged and indicated he should go on.
"The problem was, over the last few months, my father had begun sending me strange messages about strange happenings on Rosetta, things he wasn't sure were supposed to happen.”
“Ghosts?" Meade snickered. “I know I'm not as educated as some in the Consortium, but I'm pretty sure it sounds like your father was just having a tough time being locked up in a rock millions of kilometers from home.”
“My father was the sanest man I know. Sufficed to say, he was working on a special project and I believe he was killed because of it.” Atel flicked a small piece of fluff that had settled on his jacket.
"I'm gonna need details of this so-called special project."
Atel shook his head. "I'm afraid that will be contingent on you agreeing to come on board as a special investigator.
"You believe he died because of this secret project he was working on?" Meade asked.
Sinjakama shook his head. "At this point, I have no idea what to believe. Koschei told my family and Consortium leaders in charge of the project that he died during an industrial accident in The Pit of Rosetta.”
“So, what makes you think he's been murdered instead?”
“What is my father, an engineer and scientist doing deep within the ORI mines on Rosetta? The Pit couldn't be further from the living facilities, nor would it be necessary for his project for him to be in the Pit. What would the Pit possibly offer that he couldn't have sent to him or ordered done by Koschei?"
This was news to Meade. Palmetto had been light on the details of the case only saying what he needed to make Meade agree to take the case. From what he was able to deduce about Atel, the man was fastidious, and could barely stand being in a dusty bar on Mars. If his father was anything like him (and Meade was willing to be that apple didn't fall far from the tree), what was a man like that doing in the dirtiest and likely most dangerous place on Rosetta? It was a strange detail and according to Atel, complete incongruous with his father's behavior.
“OK, you've got my attention. Let's say I believe there's something hinky going on. Why hire me?" Meade looked over Atel again, "Perfect suit, autodidactic cloth, am I right?" He didn't wait for an answer, autodidactic cloth sensed the dimensions of whoever wore it and automatically adjusted itself. You could lose or gain twenty pounds in a day and the suit would still fit as perfectly as the day it came from the tailor. Expensive stuff. "A man with your sort of resources should be able to afford a Nat Direct man if he really wanted.”
“I can't trust a National Directive man. They come with contacts, allegiances and legal troubles that my family can ill afford at this moment. You however, have no such contacts or allegiances. Through my research, I've learned that you aren't exactly in The Consortium or Coalition's good graces. In fact, it seems to me that you go out of your way to piss off every powerful man and woman in the System. As you are untrustworthy to most of the players in this game, that makes you very valuable to me. My family...” he paused and swallowed. This was obviously difficult for him to admit to a Runabout like Meade, “No, that's not right, I need your help. You have a reputation for independence, and a deadly dogged pursuit for the truth. Both of those things are valuable commodities to me at the moment.”
Meade searched Atel's face for any sign of deception. Consortium officers rarely told the truth, even when it might serve their needs, but Meade couldn't see any indication of deception from the Indian man sitting across from him. Sure, the man was an asshole that much was easy to see. But then, Meade was sure a lot of people thought the same of him.
Besides, Palmetto made it clear that Meade had little choice but to take the case.
“You've got yourself a deal. My rate is fifteen thousand credits a day plus expenses.”
Atel stiffened at the price. “Fifteen thousand is outrageous! I won't pay it.”
Meade shrugged. “That's the going rate for me to step off-planet. Plus," he jerked his thumb back at the bartender behind him, "Emeline comes with. She's my assistant, and she gets fifteen a day too.”
Emeline choked on the orange juice, nearly spitting it back up in surprise. Meade allowed a slight smile and thought she probably hadn't seen that much money ever let alone make that much in a single day.
Atel was flabbergasted, but Meade could tell he had him. Besides, he could afford it. Between Atel Sinjakama and what Meade was charging Palmetto to take the case, he would stand to make a bundle out of this. Not bad for a few day's work.
"A bartender?" Atel was outraged. "What could she possibly offer?"
Meade smiled and continued, ignoring Atel's objections. “You keep arguing the price goes up. Else...” he waved towards the other men in the bar, “you think you might find someone else who could do the job. But, I don't know too many other people willing to mix it up with the Consortium or Coalition, let alone both at the same time.”
Atel glared at Meade furious.
“You'll both get your money, but upon our return. All your needs will be provided through my expense account until then. Are we agreed?” Atel offered his ArmBar, the contract already brought up on his screen. All Meade would have to do is thumbprint the contract and he'd be in.
“I don't see how I can say no to such a lovely offer.” Meade said sarcastically thumbing the screen. Atel offered his ArmBar to Emeline and she glanced at Meade. He nodded and she thumbed the contract as well.
“Excellent.” Atel glanced at the contract to ensure all the i's were dotted and t's crossed. “We leave for Rosetta within the hour.”
“An hour?” Emeline said surprised. “Not enough time.”
“If you want to break the contract then by all means, no-show at my ship's departure time.” Atel sniffed derisively at her. “You look like you could use some time in the hard labor camps.”
Meade grabbed Emeline's arm to keep her from ripping the man's head off. Perhaps he had been too hasty to bring her and her temper along. This man was not exactly brimming with decent bedside manners.
“We'll be there.”
Atel nodded, and exited the bar quickly holding his napkin over his mouth as he exited into the dusty red thoroughfare outside Lover's Lot.
“That man is an incredible asshole.” Emeline said fuming.
“No arguments here lady.” Meade turned back and threw down what remained of his drink. “I have a feeling he won't be the last one we encounter either.”
He rose and headed towards his office to pack. He would need a few things. Rosetta wasn't exactly known for its creature comforts.
“Pack up, we leave in an hour.” He called back to Emeline. “And make sure you bring your A game...”
He moved through the door into the hallway to his office and finished his sentence under his breath, “...cause we're sure as hell gonna need it.”
Chapter Four
Fifty-eight minutes later, packed and ready to go, Emeline and Meade stood in front of the Martian Spaceport. There, hundreds of men, women and children were disembarking from the latest transports to arrive from the Homeworld. Most were dishevele
d and dazed, looking around at the new alien world they now found themselves on. Meade smiled at one particularly nervous child who clutched his mother's hand tightly as she argued with a customs official about whether the flour brought from the Homeworld was subject to duty imports or not.
Meade looked at the bags he was holding and wondered to himself if he had packed enough. A few changes of clothing, some of Emeline's private stock and Shane's ArmBar was all he brought with him. He had debated whether or not to pack his grandfather's FN Five-Seven handgun, but he didn't want to risk Atel Sinjakama and his Consortium goons taking it away from him. He decided to pack it anyway and tell Sinjakama on the way there. If it wasn't allowed, he'd leave it behind. He just felt safer when he was holding onto his grandfather's gun. Strictly speaking, handguns weren't exactly legal on Mars, but the Coalition MPs usually looked the other way. You had to in a rough and tumble environment like this. Besides, ammunition was hard to come by and most folks had become very adept at killing each other using various attachments on their ArmBars. A handgun was the least of their concerns. At least with the way clothing was made these days, a bullet was hard pressed to kill someone unless you landed a head shot. Fortunately, Meade had gotten very proficient at that.