Greenies

He had not been privy to the impending arrest of Governor Whiting on Mars and his day had been filled with routine computer work. He was now at home, with no idea that the worst evening of his life was about to commence.

This really was a pity, because he was engaging in a rather pleasant evening otherwise.His wife was on vacation in Hawaii and he was entertaining a young staff officer that worked in the Far Space Headquarters building at Armstrong Space Force Base, where the space fleet of Earth was based. She was twenty-six years old, blonde, very attractive, and very eager to work her way, as it was, up the Navy bureaucratic ladder. He'd spotted her from almost the instant she'd appeared in her current assignment but this was the first time he'd managed to get her alone. She seemed more than receptive to what his intentions were.

They were in his residence quarters on the —103^rd floor of an exclusive housing building on the outside of Departure. The apartment itself was six hundred square meters, a virtual kingdom aboard a space city. The living room, in which they were currently sitting, featured a large picture window that looked out upon the blue, white Earth floating far below. From the Internet system soft, sensual music was playing and a blazing fire hologram (complete with artificial warmth) was showing in a space specifically designed for it across from the window. The furniture was ultra modern, comfortable, obviously expensive. Jules was in a genuine silk dressing gown, sipping a glass of white wine. The young staff officer, Lieutenant Megan Riley, was wearing a cocktail dress. She was beaming at him delightfully, making his libido soar.

'More herb, my dear?' he asked, inching a little closer to her.

She giggled. 'Maybe a little.'

He picked up the slender hose that sat on the table before her, putting it to her lips. The other end of the hose led to a small electric bong that sat on the table. The bong had a cartridge of compressed Martian green marijuana in its chamber, perhaps the finest and most expensive variety commercially available (a product of Agricorp). She giggled as he pressed the button on the hose and a water-cooled stream of smoke was ejected. After inhaling deeply he gently pulled the hose from her mouth and put it to his own. A push of the button and his own lungs filled with the sweet, intoxicating smoke. He held it in, staring into her eyes, noting her receptiveness. He put his arm around her and pulled her to him. She came willingly. He knew that when he exhaled the smoke he would kiss her and then the fun would really start, all of the innocent, though politically necessary innuendos cast aside.

The music was suddenly halted, breaking the mood.

'What the hell?' Jules barked, the smoke belching out of him.

'Priority message from Admiral Lucid,' the voice of his computer said. 'Would you like to answer it or refer it to the mail server?'

He felt his face turning red. What the Christ was this? A priority message? From Lucid? Lucid was the supreme commander of WestHem naval forces — his boss — though he was an idiotic political appointee. He looked at the nearest time display, seeing that it was 2135 hours here in space. That would make it 2035 hours in Denver, long past the time that fat prick should have been gone from his office for the day. What could possibly have come up after office hours that he needed to send a priority message — which Jules was obligated to answer — right now?

He sighed. 'Excuse me for one moment, my dear, will you?'

'Of course,' she giggled, picking up the marijuana hose again.

As he strolled over to the nearest terminal he shot a glance out the window. Departure was in geo-synch orbit over the west coast of South America. From this vantage point Jules could clearly make out North America. The central portion was in darkness at the moment but free of cloud cover. He could see the tiny blot of light that signified the Denver metropolitan area. He projected a death wish towards it.

'Send the message to terminal two,' he spoke into the air.

The computer picked up his voice, performed the normal security check upon it, and then routed the transmission to the living room Internet terminal. The screen filled with the face of Admiral Lucid.

'Hi, Gene,' Jules said pleasantly. He was an experienced bureaucrat and allowed no hint of his real feelings in his voice or facial expression. 'What's going on?'

'Tanner,' Lucid answered, visibly upset. 'We've got big problems on Mars.'

'Mars?' Jules repeated, alarmed. 'Is it EastHem?' In any hot war with EastHem, Mars would most likely be a primary target for attack or invasion.

'No,' was the reply. 'It's not that bad, but it's close and much more embarrassing for you and me both.' He shook his head sadly. 'The goddamn greenies have attacked and captured TNB.'

'What?' Jules said, his mouth dropping open. The greenies? Triad Naval Base? Attacked it? 'How? Who?' he finally asked.

'That's not all they've done,' Lucid said. 'That bitch Whiting has apparently taken command of the Martian Planetary Guard and they have the entire fucking planet under control. They have possession of all of the ships in dock at TNB and all of the personnel that manned them. They have possession of the nuclear torpedoes on the Owls and the Californias as well.'

'Gene,' he said in disbelief. 'That's insane.' He had more than 40,000 people stationed at Triad! He had his entire far space fleet there except for whatever was deployed at Ganymede. 'How could they have done something like that?'

'My understanding is that it was a surprise attack by the MPG, forcing entry through the transportation tunnels and cutting their way in with primacord charges. They overwhelmed the security force in less than an hour. General Sega — a fucking jarhead in charge of the Marines on Mars — took command of all the Martian forces and surrendered them.' He shook his head. 'Surrendered them! To greenies! Can you believe it? That bastard will be court martialed for that little decision, I can tell you that.'

Jules paled as a thought occurred to him. 'The nuclear torpedoes, Gene, are they still...'

'The security watch crews were able to wipe their programming. It's SOP. I wouldn't think that the greenies would be able to utilize them for anything. But they do still have the physical components.'

'Thank God for small favors. But Gene, how could something like this have happened? What the hell are the greenies doing? What could they possibly hope to gain?'

'We don't know but we need to find out,' he said, since the transmissions in which Whiting gave her speech to the planet were still on their way across the emptiness of space. 'I need you to address the executive council tomorrow morning at 0800 on what has happened and what we're going to do about it.'

'The executive council?' he said, fear shooting through the stoned haze of his mind. 'I don't know anything about what's happened! How can I brief them? I need someone to brief me! And that will take...'

'You need to get dressed immediately and head for Armstrong. A T-7 will take you down to Colorado Springs. I'll have all of the info we've developed so far on a disk waiting for you. You can get yourself briefed in on the way down. Once you're in Colorado Springs I'll have a room ready for you at VIP quarters. Get on the Internet and start researching from there. You need to have a complete briefing ready for them at 0800 tomorrow even if you have to stay up all night. Include what happened, how it happened, and what the possibilities are that the greenies can get any of those ships operational.'

'Operational?' Jules said, puzzled. 'How the hell would they do that? They don't have any naval personnel capable of commanding a warship.'

'Don't they?' Lucid asked. 'They have a hell of a lot of former WestHem navy spacers living on Mars and carrying Martian citizenship. Many of them work on the food and steel transport ships. Is there any possibility that...'

'No,' Jules said firmly, wondering why he had to explain something so basic to a man that was allegedly his superior. 'No Martian has ever been placed in command of one of our ships since that idiot Belting back in the Jupiter War. And you know what happened there. I'd say that well over ninety percent of the Martians that have served in the navy never made it past enlisted rank. Sure, some of them may have observed command tactics and procedure but it is simply inconceivable that they would be able to operate a single one of those ships. And even if they could, what would they do with them? The most dangerous things they have are the Owls and those are useless without the torpedoes being active.'

Lucid seemed somewhat relieved. 'That's good to know.' He said. 'Be sure to come up with hard statistics to back it up when you brief the executive council. I just got the ass chewing of my life from them a few minutes ago.