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
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.
Meanwhile, less than twenty meters away, another person was pushing forward as well, just as intent — if not more — to position herself close to Laura Whiting. That person was Belinda Creek and she had watched the news broadcast of Whiting meeting with the agricultural workers earlier this morning because it had pre-empted her soap operas. She had seethed with hatred as she'd gazed upon the face of the person she blamed for all of her recent woes. Laura Whiting had started this so-called revolution, putting an end to the lifestyle she'd grown up with. Laura Whiting had seduced her husband into military service to support her revolution, changing him from the man who would give her a child and a larger apartment to a man who had divorced her, who had turned her in to the police for profiteering, who had contemptuously thrown her away like a piece of garbage. And then the booze and the cigarettes — Belinda's main focus in life — had dried up because of Laura Whiting's revolution, leaving her twisting and seizing on her bed, sending her through the hell of withdrawal, nearly killing her. And now Laura Whiting had done the most hated thing of all. She had secured a fresh booze supply for Mars, had secured high- grade tobacco, but she was denying it to Belinda just because she didn't want to get a job! That was the cruelest, most vicious thing she'd ever imagined. Belinda couldn't even get marijuana anymore, all because of that cursed welfare reform law Laura Whiting had come up with.
She pushed forward, not gaining ground as quickly as Lisa and Horishito but moving relentlessly closer all the same. Finally she got to within ten meters, was able to see that hated face in person for the first time. Her resolve solidified as the fury surged through her. Until this moment she had not really been sure she was going to carry through with her plans. Now she was sure. Laura Whiting had to die. She had to die for everything she'd done to Belinda's ordered and structured life.
She felt the cheap pistol that was in her pocket, reassuring herself it was still there. She checked to make sure the safety was off. She then pulled her hand out of her pocket so she would not arouse suspicions. She pushed on again. A line of people had formed before Whiting, their purpose to shake her hand and say a few words to her. Belinda pushed herself into the line and began to move with it. She was thirty people back, moving forward at an average of one person every fifteen seconds.
Lisa and Horishito had managed to work themselves to within sight of Laura by this point. They stood hand in hand on the forward edge of the surging crowd, their eyes tracking over everyone within ten meters of the Governor. There were just too many people for them to give any one person more than a cursory examination. Both of them looked at Belinda Creek, but neither lingered on her for more than a second. Neither had time to notice the way her eyes were flitting back and forth, the way her teeth were chewing nervously on her lower lip, the way she was wringing her hands over and over, trying to keep them from reaching into her pocket prematurely.
'This is a fuckin' joke,' Horishito said. 'There are too many people here. How in the hell are we supposed to do anything? What are we even looking for?'
'Her luck has held this long,' Lisa said. 'Hopefully it'll hold through today as well.'
'Fuckin' aye,' Horishito said, looking at his PC to get the time. It was 1130. 'Boarding for the train has already started. She'll probably wrap this shit up in another minute or two.'
Laura Whiting was, in fact, planning to wrap this shit up even as they spoke. She had shaken hundreds of hands, talked to hundreds of people, been hugged and mobbed and even kissed a few times. She was weary and knew it was time to get on the train and hopefully catch an hour or so of sleep on the trip to Proctor. She had actually opened her mouth to tell the crowd that she was sorry for not talking to all of them but she had to go. And then she spotted the woman in the handshake line. She was a dirty blonde, her hair unwashed, her eyes bloodshot, her nose with the scattering of burst capillaries that denoted a chronic alcoholic. Laura
