Al Steiner: Greenies

"I see," he said slowly.

"I would put you in touch with various auditors, accountants, and lawyers from the various corporations that supply the equipment so you could develop estimations for both initial start-up costs and yearly operational costs. Most of the military hardware manufacturers are based here on Mars. That should make things a little easier. We wouldn't have to deal with shipping costs."

"No," he said, his head spinning with the request. "I don't suppose we would."

She took a deep breath. "And most of all," she continued, "if such a project were approved, I would need someone to lead it."

There was silence as he digested her words and tried to grapple with all of the ramifications of it. "You would want me to lead it?"

"I cannot think of a better person," she replied. "Of course, unlike the bulk of the members, you would be paid a salary for your position and you would be expected to devote your full-time energies to it. You would be allocated a command staff and a training staff, the composition of which would be your discretion. The governor would have to appoint you to the position and the legislature would have to confirm you, but I'm pretty sure that if I can get things that far it will not be a problem. A few whispered words to the right people would be all that was required. For instance, I could assure Alexander Industries that you would buy your tanks from them if they pressured the politicians they own to vote for you."

This was all moving too fast for Jackson. "I would have to resign from the marines in order to accept your offer," he said. "I would have to give up my rank, my pension, and everything I've worked for over the years."

"Yes," she said, not pulling her punches. "You would. As I said, you would be paid for your position and given all of the perks you would expect from it. Comparable salary, medical and lawyer insurance, and travel expenses would all be covered. But you would have to leave the marines behind."

He took another sip from his wine, swallowing it slowly. "You're asking a lot of me, Laura."

"I know," she said, wondering if she should tell him the rest of her plans for this force. To do so would be a horrible risk. If her instincts about his planetary loyalty were the least bit wrong... But on the other hand, he would have to be told eventually, would have to agree. And there was no one else that she could even begin to trust with what she had in mind. There were undoubtedly others who would do it, but she had no way of picking them out. Though her political connections were many, her military ones were almost completely limited to this one man.

"Look, Laura," he said, intruding upon her train of thought. "I'll be happy to draw up your plans for you and provide any manner of expertise that I can offer. I'll even take an unpaid leave of absence to help you get it up and running. But as for giving up my commission... well, I'm not sure that I can..."

"Kevin," she said softly, making her decision. "Why don't I explain a few other things to you?"

"Other things?"

She nodded, feeling her hands wanting to tremble as she laid her proverbial cards on the table. "I'm going to be governor of this planet someday," she said. "Probably within twelve years."

"I'm sure you're right," he said. "But..."

"Listen to me for a minute," she interrupted. "Listen to me very carefully. I want to be absolutely sure that you do not misunderstand anything I'm about to say."

That got his attention. He snapped his mouth shut.

With that, she began to talk.

Jackson listened to her, his eyes widening as the story developed. When she was done he only sat there, stunned.

"So what do you think?" she said at last. "It's certainly a risk, I'll be the first to agree. But it's a risk worth taking and I think that together we can pull it off."

"My God, Laura," he finally intoned. "What you're suggesting is... is..."

"I know what it is," she told him. "The question is, will you help me?"

He scratched his head a little and took a few breaths. Would he help her? Would he risk not just his career but his very life? He could easily imagine the consequences of failure. But at the same time he could imagine the rewards of success. They would be the greatest rewards a people could imagine. "I'll help you," he said at last. "You get me a planetary guard established and I'll lead it."

She smiled, holding her hand across the table. "Welcome aboard," she said as he shook with her. "Someday they're going to name cities after you."

"Yes," he said, feeling both elation and fear at what he had agreed to. "They do that after you're dead, don't they?"

January 8, 2146

Eden, Mars

Lisa Wong drove the black and white police cart slowly down 5 thstreet, cursing as she had to detour around city hall. Uniformed Martian Planetary Guard squads, part of Governor-elect Laura Whiting's security detail, had closed the streets to all traffic for a block in each direction in anticipation of an inauguration party that would be taking place all day tomorrow, after the new leader of Mars was sworn in tonight in New Pittsburgh. They had erected plastic barricades and were standing by with M-24 assault rifles slung over their shoulders. Combat goggles were settled upon their faces. The soldiers and the police department usually got along well together — after all, a good portion of the police force served on their days off — but not well enough to invite the cart to pass through. They had their orders, direct from General Jackson himself.

"Fuckin' politicians," Lisa groaned to her partner as she turned onto 16 thAvenue, winding her way through a group of pedestrians that were watching the soldiers. "There won't be a single fuckin' dignitary down here until tomorrow afternoon, but they're closing everything off tonight. What the hell is up with that? Sometimes I think they have all that security as a goddamn status symbol instead of out of any real need. Who the hell would want to kill a politician anyway? All they'd do is elect another one."

"Yep," Brian Haggerty replied from the passenger seat of the cart. He took a drink from a large bottle of soda and then belched loudly, as if to express his opinion. "If there's one thing there's no shortage of, it's elected officials. They oughtta use all of those troops to come out here and run some of our calls for us. Maybe that could cut us down to eight a shift instead of twelve."

"And maybe let us get a chance to eat lunch once in a while," Lisa agreed, honking impatiently at a group of gang members that were taking too long to clear out of their way. On Martian streets it was generally the pedestrian that ruled since walking and the elevated trains were the principal means of transportation. But what little vehicular traffic did exist — police carts, dip-hoe carts, delivery trucks — was legally given the right of way. Apparently this street gang had not been briefed on that particular provision of the municipal code. Two of the gang members raised their middle fingers to the black and white without even glancing at it. Two others did glance at them but only long enough to make eye contact while they contemptuously grabbed their crotches.

"Fucking vermin," Brian said sourly, glaring at them through the reinforced mesh wire that covered the windshield. "I'd like to cram my tanner up their back doors and crank it up to full."

"They'd probably like it," Lisa replied, finally achieving enough room to maneuver the four-seat electric cart around them. She picked up a little speed and continued down the avenue, turning at the next block and circling back around to 5 thStreet once more.

Lisa and Brian were uniformed patrol officers of the Eden Police Department. Both were nine-year veterans of patrol services and both had recently been assigned to the downtown division. Downtown Eden was not exactly the most desirable district to work. Once away from the office buildings and the expensive housing complexes, which were patrolled by high seniority foot patrolmen anyway, the streets were as dangerous as anything in the ghettos. Downtown was rife with armed gangs of welfare class youths that trafficked in dust — a cheap, illegal drug that was synthesized from stolen agricultural chemicals. Dust was the intoxicant most favored by the lower classes when they ran out of or grew bored with their monthly allotment of marijuana and alcohol. Those who chronically used dust were prone to fits of violent paranoia while on a binge. Between the sellers, the manufacturers, and the users, all of whom were concentrated in high numbers in the welfare housing buildings of downtown, the district was a busy, dangerous place to work. Downtown forced patrol partners into a sometimes fierce protective bonding with each other.