"All these people here," said one of the crew leaders, "are going out to help harvest and care for the vegetables and the marijuana that we're trading with EastHem. We've been going full-blast for the past three weeks to get that order up to Triad and onto those ships when they arrive. Most of us were unemployed before the revolution and had been for generations. We're all working and making good money now and we're worried that it will come to an end if we don't negotiate peace with WestHem."
"Don't you understand what you're doing?" Laura responded to him. "You're glad for the revolution because it gave you a job and allowed you to make money. In the same breath, however, you're telling me that we shouldn't fight anymore to keep what we fought for."
"Not if we can negotiate a suitable settlement with WestHem," he replied.
"If we let WestHem back in here, if we allow them any sort of control over our industries or our agriculture, we will go right back to where we were within a generation no matter how favorable the terms they've offered us are. They will be using their wealth to bribe our politicians again, corrupting our government, passing laws that will slowly, one by one, take away everything that we could hope to gain by negotiating with them. Use your common sense, Dawg. You have to know that what I'm saying is true. Deep down inside you have to know that."
The crew leader did know that what she said was true. He just didn't want to face it. He had been given a comfortable existence right here and right now and his self-interest would not allow him to think about might happen in the future.
"What about your children?" Laura asked him.
"Children?" he chuckled. "You mean child, right? And what about him?"
"No, I mean children," she said. "The legislature is right now working on a document that will officially repeal the birthing restrictions on Mars. Starting as early as next week, any woman can have as many children as she wishes. We're going to bring back brothers and sisters to the planet. We're going to bring back aunts and uncles. So what are your children going to have to endure if you piss away our revolution because you're afraid of losing your union scale wages? Do you want them to have no hope of college education? No hope of having a job when they grow up? Do you want them to be called vermin like the employed class used to call you?"
The crew leader was shocked by her words, as was everyone in earshot. Laura did have a way of putting things into perspective. She knew that most of these people that she talked to would be voting against reconciliation. She knew that her trips were doing a lot to change the minds of the workforce. But it could hardly be enough. There were millions of workers on the planet and there was no way she could talk to them all. She could make speeches on MarsGroup every few days — and she was doing that — but her words were not carrying the same power in the mass media format as they once had, in part because of the equally powerful words of Jack Strough. He was promising a quick end to the conflict, an easy out. The fact that his words were misleading, possibly even an out and out lie, just wasn't getting through. The people were enjoying the taste of their new life, of their new freedom, and they were desperate to preserve it: so desperate that they didn't want to continue gambling for fear of losing it — although by listening to Strough, that was exactly what they were doing.
She knew what needed to be done in order for the people to listen to her again, to pay attention to her words, to feel them with their hearts and souls. She knew, she was willing to accept the consequences of it, but it was something she could not put into motion herself. She would have to wait for salvation from without. She had thought it would have come by now but it hadn't. If it didn't come before the vote, it might be too late.
MarsTrans Intercity Passenger Terminal
January 3, 2147
1123 hours
"Look at all these fucking people," said Lisa Wong as she stared at the crowd that had gathered to see Laura Whiting off. "This is a goddamn security nightmare."
"I can't believe she actually announced on MarsGroup what time she was leaving," said Horishito, who was standing next to her, posing as her husband on this particular assignment.
Both of them were wearing frumpy civilian clothes — Lisa a pair of loose fitting blue shorts that hung nearly to mid-thigh and a looser-fitting tan shirt that covered her stomach and did little to display her respectable physique. Hoary was wearing similar clothing. The effect was to make them look like God-freaks — those ultra-religious Martians who still subscribed to the ancient Earth myths. This was just the cover they were looking for on this assignment. God-freaks were a small minority in the Martian population but could be seen through all walks of life. They were hardly noticed by the live-and-let-live Martian majority, usually uncommented on if they were noticed. The frumpy clothing of their disguises served two purposes. One, it hid the bulging muscles, ultra-flat stomachs, and toned thighs that marked them as special forces members. Two, it hid the communications gear and the 3mm pistols that were strapped to their waists.
They had been pulled out of their training regiments in order to act as a secret service of sorts for Governor Whiting, who was apparently in the habit of walking around in public without her own security detail. Governor Whiting did not know they were here. She did not know the other twelve special forces members — commanded by newly promoted Lieutenant Lon Fargo — were here, some disguised as other God-freaks, some disguised as terminal janitorial staff. The numbers had seemed adequate when they'd come out, this despite the fact that Whiting, in an interview on MarsGroup after her meeting with the agricultural workers, had actually announced she would be taking the 1150 train to Proctor, staying overnight there, and then meeting with the Proctor agricultural workers as they went on shift the next day. Fargo had figured that a crowd would show up to see the Governor in person but he had not figured on the more than five thousand that had actually arrived. After all, it was a workday and most Martians these days were employed, weren't they?
"This is insane," Lisa said, trying to squirm her way forward through the crowd toward the departure platform, Hoary hanging onto her left hand. They were still over thirty meters from where Whiting now was, and aside from Lon himself, who was disguised as a MarsTrans customer service technician and had worked his way to within actual sight of her, the closest of the operatives. "None of these people have been screened for weapons, not even superficially. They just walked right in. Any one of them could be carrying anything on them."
"It's like Governor Whiting has a fuckin' death wish or something," Horishito agreed. "Is Eden PD still on their way to augment us?"
"Lon said they have some of their own undercover officers already here," Lisa said. "They've got more on the way. They at least have some experience with this sort of thing since they protect the mayor."
"They need to find some way for us to coordinate with them and let us know where their officers are and visa versa. We might end up shooting at each other if we spot weapons."
"Shit," said Lisa. "I didn't even think of that. Why don't you call Lon about that while I keep pushing us through the crowd?"
"Right," Horishito said. "I'm on the motherfucker. Maybe we can all get on the same channel."
Lisa pushed forward, using her strength to squirm between groups of Martians, to twist in and out, to propel herself toward the loading platform where Laura Whiting was being mobbed. Horishito, holding onto her hand and speaking circumspectly on his radio, followed close behind, slipping into the gaps she created. The Martians gave way reluctantly, many of them saying things like, "go read your bible, freak!" or "we don't need to be saved, Laura's already saved us". Lisa uttered a few Jesus loves you's in order to maintain their cover and kept on pushing on.