One Day on Mars

the news. He always enjoyed The Round Table on ENN. Mortimer and Howard were so stately and wise, but that damned broad on there was a hotheaded radical, almost comical she was so radical. Nobody ever really took her seriously; otherwise, the president would not be supporting the ninety-six percent approval rating across the entire country. The country loved him. There was a present economic flourish. There hadn't been a terrorist uprising since a year ago way out at Triton and that crazy Kuiper Station affair from his first year in office in his first term, which was all but forgotten by the general populace. The only bit of trouble was the Separatist Extremist terrorists on the edge of the Reservation, and the armed forces had been able to keep that at bay and the news was playing it fairly low-key. The overwhelming might of the U.S. Fleet prevented any terrorists from truly revolting and besides that, the media loved him. Things were looking good for the administration and the legacy of President Alberts. With only a year to go until the election his successor, Vice President Michelle Swope, could ride his high approval rating wave right into the White House and give the Democrats four more years.

Mr. President. Paula, his AI staffer, interrupted his train of thought.

Yes, Paula? He leaned back in his desk chair and propped his feet up on the desk. It was his office, it was his country, why not? Was it disrespectful? Will didn't think so.

The secretary of defense, the national security advisor, and the director of national intelligence are here for the daily intelligence brief, the AI said into Alberts' mind.

Shit. Didn't I do that yesterday? the president asked.

No sir.

Well, when was the last time I read that thing? It couldn't be that long ago.

It was thirteen months and four days ago, Mr. President. The AI paused. Sir, your wife is also requesting you meet with her and the Reservation Historical Fund Society this morning.

Shit again. Tell her I have an important meeting with the sec def, the NSA, and the DNI that I can't get out of today.

Very well. And the sec def, NSA, and DNI, sir?

Oh hell, send them in.

 

'Okay Conner.' Alberts held up his left hand and looked up at the secretary of defense. 'All this secret stuff just isn't any good for the country. The polls show that these clandestine operations make the public distrust the government. You know who the government is, Conner? Me, that's who. Did you see my approval rating today? We don't need to be doing a bunch of clandestine stuff that is gonna screw that up in my last year in office.'

'Uh, yes, Mr. President, we thought of that. But the DNI's office has intelligence that there has been a lot of technology being transferred from somewhere into the Reservation,' the sec def told the commander in chief.

'Is this true, Mike? Where did we get this intelligence from? I thought none of your forays into the Reservation had ever delivered anything other than a hefty bill,' Alberts said.

'Well, yes, Mr. President. In the last raid at the edge of the South Elysium border of the Reservation near the crater line of Nepenthes Mensae we met heavy armored resistance. The imagery data from the telescopes on the U.S.S. Nelson Mandela got shots of what looked like mecha deep within the territory. The imagery is a bit limited as there was heavy SAM and cannon fire but analysts believe there was a mecha division moving into the Elysium region,' the director of national intelligence, Mike Netteny, explained.

'Yes, they have mecha. They've had Orcus drop tank mecha for years but that is obsolete technology compared to our M3A17-Ts and our FM-12s, as you have explained to me before.' Alberts was growing impatient with this daily brief. He had never had much use for it. The DNI would always suggest that they needed more money to conduct some harebrained cheap spy-novel heroics that would never pay off and the secretary of defense would tell him that the Joint Chiefs needed more money for more weapons systems and the national security advisor would always say that there was an imminent threat from the terrorist movement from within the Reservation.

'Mr. President, from this picture it is quite clear that this is not a Seppy drop tank,' the DNI replied.

'Mike, that is a racist word and you know I don't like it,' Alberts said.

'Sorry, Mr. President. But this is not a drop tank.'

'Now, how the hell could you tell that? Look at it. The damned thing is so small it is just one damned pixel. Hell, it might even be a Martian conifer tree as far as I can tell.' Alberts shook his head and ran his fingers through his light brown and gray hair. Once his term in office was over he'd have that damned gray removed, but for now the people seemed to like it. It made him seem more presidential.

'Well, Mr. President, if you will notice here.' Netteny pointed his pen at the point in the picture that was supposed to be the mecha. 'Then notice this dark spot here. This is the mecha's shadow. And note that the two aren't touching at the bottom.'

'Yeah, so?'

'That means it is in the air, sir. And knowing the details of the optical system and its pointing angles at the time and from the angle of the sun and the length of this shadow we can tell how big this mecha is and how high off the ground it is.'

'Cut to the chase, Mike.'

'The mecha is larger and much higher in the air than the standard drop tank. This is something new, Mr. President.' The DNI didn't grin triumphantly but he wasn't still frowning at Alberts either.

'Okay, so the Separatists have a new experimental mecha. Good for them.' The president sat up straight and started to close the brief.

'Wait, Mr. President. Look at the image on the next page.' The DNI pointed at the briefing. With a sigh the president flipped the page and began to study it for a moment.

'What the . . . ?' he asked. The image showed a squadron of the mecha in nearly the same level of resolution. 'How many is this?'

'Maybe as many as thirty, sir. It was hard to tell from this data. But turn to the next page,' the DNI