"Fuckin' aye," Sugi agreed.
Brett passed the orders onto the crew via the intercom system. He told them that since the Martian Navy was a voluntary service, anyone who thought the mission too dangerous was free to resign and leave. No one took him up on the offer.
Less than an hour later the acceleration alarm was sounded and the fusion engines lit up, pushing the Ballbuster toward its first mission.
MPG Base, Eden
September 20, 2146
The last of the WestHem landing ships had departed the surface six hours before. Though there was much work to be done — not the least of which was collecting their dead from the trenches — all MPG combat troops had been pulled back inside and given a seventy-two hour pass in celebration of their victory over the WestHem marines. Some worried what would happen if the landing ships decided to come back down during this seventy-two hour period. After all, the armada was still up there in orbit. Intelligence assured them — and the Martian citizenry — they had nothing to worry about. The landing ships had already come down and gone back up twice since arriving. This was the absolute limit of their operational parameters. It was theoretically possible that they could borrow enough hydrogen from the armada ships to make another controlled landing but there was no way in hell there could be enough liquid oxygen left to oxidize that hydrogen. The landing ships were stuck up there for good. Mars was safe from all but space bomber attack, and even that was thought unlikely at best.
The MPG cooks had once again outdone themselves in serving up a veritable feast for the returning combat troops. They had assembled a buffet filled with filet mignon slabs, prime rib slices, chicken parmesan, and stuffed pork chops. There were fresh artichokes with garlic mayo, asparagus, corn on the cob, and broccoli covered with cheddar cheese sauce. There were baked potatoes by the thousands, mashed potatoes with rich beef gravy, various kinds of rice dishes, and, of course, that tried and true Martian favorite: macaroni salad with egg slices. The only things that weren't available were any kind of alcoholic beverages, any kind of tobacco, and any kind of coffee drink. Currently none of these items could be found for sale on Mars, not even on the black market.
"Premo fuckin' chow," Xenia said, munching on the garlic mayo smeared heart from her second artichoke.
"I have never felt so full in my life," said Belinda, who was leaning back in her cafeteria chair, sipping from a bottle of AgriCorp root beer.
"No shit," said Jeff, who had put away two full plates of food himself. After a week of eating nothing but food paste and drinking water, his stomach wasn't quite sure how to handle real food.
The three of them were off in a corner of the cafeteria by themselves, having drifted there by unspoken consent. Drogan, who had been briefed on the crazy-ass plan by Jeff over the last few days ("no fuckin' way somethin' like that can work long-term," she'd opined, "but it's a premo way for both of you to score a little X-pussy") had elected to go sit with the rest of her squad instead, knowing they would want to be alone with her. Belinda and Jeff had taken turns explaining their thoughts, feelings, and hopeful plans to Xenia as they'd eaten. She had listened, sometimes with surprise, sometimes with anger, sometimes with arousal. And then she had changed the subject, refusing to speak of triads and love any longer.
Xenia popped the last of her artichoke heart into her mouth, drained the last of her soda, and then let fly a trumpeting, unladylike belch that actually echoed off the nearby wall. She did not excuse herself, of course. On Mars, one never excused one's self for either burping or farting. "So," she said, "are we ready to blow this scene and go hit the hospital?"
Jeff and Belinda looked at each other. They looked back at Xenia.
"Don't you think we should maybe talk about... you know... what we were talking about?" Belinda asked.
"No," Xenia said, standing up. "I think we should go visit our friends in the hospital. Maybe we'll talk later."
"Xenia..." Jeff started.
"Or maybe we won't," she said firmly, her expression not amused. She turned and began walking toward the main base corridor.
Jeff and Belinda stared after her for a moment, watching as she walked away from them.
"Did we piss her off, you think?" Jeff asked.
"I'm not sure," Belinda said. "Maybe we just gave her too much to think about right now. Maybe this was the wrong time to bring up the whole triad thing."
"Maybe," Jeff said. "Come on. We'd better catch up with her."
They trotted to catch up and fell in behind her just as she made it to the main access corridor.
"Look, Xenia," Jeff said. "We're sorry. We thought it was a good idea. We didn't know..."
"You're still talking about it," Xenia said, not slowing her pace. "Right now we're going to the hospital. This is not the time."
"Sorry," Jeff muttered. He said no more on the subject. Neither did Belinda.
They reached the security checkpoint and the sound of laughter and hundreds of ecstatic voices could be heard coming from just beyond it. Jeff saw that instead of the usual four MP's standing watch there was now a reinforced platoon, all of them armed with police tanners. Beyond them, out on Macarthur Avenue, he could see hundreds of civilians milling about, apparently in the process of partying their asses off. There were women, men, old people, children, many carrying signs that said things like FREE AT LAST! or THANK YOU MPG!! WE WON'T FORGET!! The smell of marijuana smoke was very heavy in the air.
"What the hell's going on?" Jeff asked one of the MPs, a woman in her late twenties whose ID tag on her armor vest identified her as Corporal Twister.
"A celebration of victory, that's what's going on," Twister told him with a smile. "They've been partying out there ever since the official cease fire was announced. They're mobbing everyone who walks out in an MPG uniform."
"Mobbing?" Belinda asked.
Twister grinned. "Not in a bad way," she said. "I think you'll enjoy their gratitude. A lot of the troops that went out are still out there. I've never seen anything like this."
"Anything like what?" Jeff asked.
"Let's just say that a lot of people are exercising their newly won freedom."
Jeff looked a little closer and was surprised to see that acts of open sexuality were taking place all over the place out there. There was a man and a woman lying on the corner of one of the planters, both completely naked, the woman's legs spread wide, the man thrusting enthusiastically between them. Closer to the gate three women, all of them naked, were engaged in a twisted tangle of arms and legs, their faces all licking and sucking various parts of each other's bodies. Just behind them two men were engaged in a lustful sixty-nine with each other while a group of female MPG soldiers cheered them on while kissing on each other. All of this was going on and nobody was trying to put a stop to it. A few groups of Eden Police officers were standing around the fringes just watching with amusement.
"This has been going on for five days now?" Jeff asked.
"Yep," she confirmed. "It's actually pretty sedate at the moment. You should see it at night."
"Damn," he said, his eyes trying to take everything in at once.
"And before you go out," Twister said, "allow me to be the first."
"The first?"
She grabbed his shoulders and turned him toward her. Her head came forward and she planted a huge kiss on him, her tongue sliding deep into his mouth. A cheer from outside accompanied this act. She pulled away and reached down to give his crotch a gentle squeeze. "Thank you for freeing us," she told him. "Now go out and enjoy the fruits of your labor."
"Uh... you're welcome," Jeff stammered.
Belinda and Xenia were each kissed and groped as well — Xenia by one of the female MPs, Belinda by one of the males. When they were released they walked out through the front entrance onto Macarthur Avenue. Immediately all three of them were surrounded by scantily clad Martians and more than a few naked ones.