She couldn’t help feeling nervous as the freighter finally docked with the station, but all her fears seemed groundless. The customs officer barely even glanced at them; he ran their IDs through the central processor, checked their DNA and then impatiently waved them through the security door and into the station. Adeeba kept her face expressionless as they walked into the throng of visitors, then found their way to the space elevator. Four hours later, they were on Mars.
Robinson City was odd, even by the Empire’s standards. It was composed of a series of giant domes, each one housing those wealthy enough to have surface homes, built on top of a warren that dated all the way back to the first settlements on Mars. Most of the locals in the warren seemed drab, almost completely colourless; the ethnic groups that had settled Mars, centuries ago, had long since blended together into something unique to the red planet. She wasn’t even sure how to tell the difference between the different occupations. The only people who seemed obvious were the prostitutes.
“We had to fight our way through a set of warrens once,” Frandsen said, once they found a room. The landlady took cash and asked no questions, even though it was obvious that neither of them came from Mars. “Even finding our way was tricky.”
Adeeba nodded in understanding. The warren didn’t seem to have street names, corridor designations or anything else that might help an outsider find their way around. Somehow, she suspected that it would be easy to get lost if they walked further underground. She remembered what she’d been told by Fred, before they flickered into the Sol System, and scowled. Finding the underground would be easy. Convincing the underground that they could be trusted would be hard.
They went out for dinner, finding a small eatery several corridors away from their rented room. The food was bland, utterly tasteless. Adeeba ate it anyway — naval rations were worse — and then followed Frandsen through a twisting series of corridors. She hoped the Marine was better at keeping track of where they were going, she decided, as they reached a warehouse on the lower levels. If they got split up, she knew she would never find her way back to the surface.
“Halt,” a voice ordered, as they stepped into the warehouse. “Keep your hands where we can see them.”
Adeeba winced, inwardly. The warehouse was dark. She couldn’t see the speaker. Carefully, she lifted her hands, then swallowed hard. Making contact was always dangerous, she’d been warned. They might just be about to walk right into Imperial Intelligence’s waiting arms.
“We come from Tamerlane, selling quality,” she said. It was their official excuse for visiting Mars, but it was also a code phrase from the underground. “And we need to see the Big Man.”
“Indeed,” the voice sneered. “Put your bags on the floor — gently — then get undressed.”
Adeeba exchanged glances with Frandsen, then placed the bag on the floor and pulled off her shirt, followed rapidly by her trousers. Whatever body modesty she’d once possessed had been lost by years in the Navy, where close quarters — often unisex quarters — were common. Even so, she hesitated before removing her bra and panties and dropping them on the dusty ground. They were both completely naked — and vulnerable.
A light flicked on, revealing two separate doors. “Girl, go to the left,” the voice ordered, coldly. There was no hint of any emotion in its tone. “Boy, go to the right. We have to scan you both thoroughly.”
The examination was as uncomfortable as Adeeba had feared, although the two grim-faced women who examined her were surprisingly professional. They checked her implants carefully, reluctantly conceded that she wasn’t carrying anything dangerous, then pushed her through a second door. Inside, there was a tall man carrying a pair of dressing gowns. He passed one of them to Adeeba and she donned it, gratefully. A moment later, Frandsen joined them. Adeeba couldn’t help staring at his scars before he pulled his own gown on, concealing his body.
“This way,” the man said.
He led them into a smaller room, a makeshift office. A dark-skinned man was sitting on a packing crate, waiting for them. He stood up, nodded politely to them both, then indicated that they should sit on crates themselves. A small pot of tea, bubbling in the corner, let out a low whistle. The man poured three mugs of tea — it was tradition on Mars, Adeeba recalled — and handed them out, then sat down facing them.
“You can call me the Big Man,” he said. His accent was noticeably from Mars, although it was exaggerated enough to make her wonder if it were an act. The man’s face was bland enough to suggest genetic modification. Chances were he could vanish quickly into the warrens if Imperial Security or the Blackshirts came after him. “And you’re from the rebellion.”
“Yes,” Adeeba said, shortly. “We need your help to get to Earth.”
“So I hear,” the Big Man said. “And that leads to a simple question. Can you guarantee that the Empire will be overthrown?”
Adeeba hesitated, composing her reply. “We can offer no guarantees,” she said, carefully. “However, with your help, we have a greater chance of success.”
“That is true,” the Big Man agreed. “However, we are also very vulnerable. If we stage an uprising on Mars — or Earth — we may well be crushed. The Imps will control the high orbitals. Somehow, I don’t think they will have many qualms about bombarding Mars, let alone Earth.”
“Probably not,” Adeeba said. “They will certainly react harshly to any challenge to their authority.”
“Also true,” the Big Man said. “So tell me. Why should we assist you?”
Frandsen leaned forward. “Aren’t you committed to overthrowing the Empire?”
“There’s a difference between taking brave steps and committing suicide,” the Big Man pointed out. If he was offended by Frandsen’s tone, he didn’t show it. “The point remains that we are massively outgunned, on both Earth and Mars. I will not throw lives away for no good reason.”
“We are not asking you to rebel at once,” Adeeba said. “Like you said, it would be useless — and futile. We want you to do two things for us. First, we want you to prepare for the day we attack the Sol System, so you can be ready to rise up then. Second, we want you to help sabotage the Empire’s war effort. You have, I believe, access to some bureaucrats in the logistics section?”
“A few,” the Big Man said, without committing himself. “There are others on Earth with more connections.”
He shrugged. “And what are you prepared to offer in exchange?”
“You should already be able to obtain weapons,” Frandsen said. “I can offer military training for men and women who are willing to fight.”
“Training we can get, if we need it,” the Big Man said. He looked at them both for a long moment. “And what sort of universe do you envisage taking shape after the Thousand Bastards are defeated?”
Adeeba smiled. Colin had given her very specific instructions for when that point was raised.
“Mars will gain autonomy,” she said, simply. “You will be responsible for your own affairs, without any interference from the Empire. You will send elected representatives to Parliament on Earth to debate the overall course of the Empire, like the other worlds.”
The Big Man lifted an eyebrow. Parliament was a joke, everyone knew, a thin gloss of legality covering the naked power wielded by the Thousand Families. MPs might have been democratically elected once; now, they were effectively picked at random by the Thousand Families. There was so little power in Parliament that even the damned patronage system barely touched the MPs. Some of the candidates, Colin had once observed, were selected for amusement value and nothing else.