Greenies

and the greenies infuriates them more and makes them bolder. We've lost the support of the local police departments and the local criminal justice system. My people are not able to walk the streets there anymore.'

'They're not paid to walk the streets,' she said firmly. 'They're paid to keep that planet under control and to protect our business interests. The crackdowns will continue.'

'Yes ma'am,' he said dejectedly.

'Now let's discuss Laura Whiting herself, shall we? Have you made any progress in her removal?'

'Not exactly,' he said, casting his eyes downward.

'Not exactly?' she said. 'Clinton, that is not an acceptable answer.'

'Ma'am,' he explained, 'you have to understand that we've looked into every aspect of her life over the past two months. There is simply nothing that we can legally use to file criminal charges against her. We've leaked everything that we've been doing to the big three of course, and they've done a marvelous job of spreading innuendo and half-truths about her all over the screens, but when it comes down to legalities, Whiting has covered herself very well.'

'Then make something up,' Williams said.

'Ma'am?' he said, genuinely shocked at the suggestion.

'You heard me,' she said. 'Make up some charges. Get a grand jury here on Earth to indict her on them and issue an arrest warrant. Extradite her back here to Denver for trial. I assure you that the attorney general will cooperate with you.'

'Begging your pardon, ma'am,' he said. 'But I don't think that's a very good idea.'

'Why not?' she responded. 'Isn't that what you're doing with all of those greenies that you've hauled off the street down there?'

'Well, not exactly,' he said. 'They were in possession of certain written materials and so forth that could technically be referred to as terrorist writings or incitements. It is a weak justification I will admit, but it is a justification. As far as Whiting goes however, there is nothing like those writings on her computer and her speeches, while they could be said to be inciting the terrorism that's going on, well... I don't think that would stand up in the grand jury room.'

'Then you need to come up with something that will stand up in the grand jury room.'

'Ma'am,' he tried one more time, 'if we haul Laura Whiting off of Mars with a flimsy excuse, the greenies are going to go insane. There's no telling what they might do. I think a general strike would be the least damaging course of action that we could expect. Open revolt might be the worst.'

Williams shook her head in disgust as she listened to these words. 'A general strike?' she asked. 'You must be joking. Unemployment is twenty-five percent on Mars. You can't have a general strike with that kind of rate. And as for open revolt? Surely you can't be serious about that. We have a fast action division of WestHem marines stationed on that planet. You don't really think that those greenies would try anything with them there, do you?'

'As unlikely or hopeless as it seems,' Clinton said, 'I still think that it's a possibility. There could be much bloodshed and disruption of production.'

'It won't happen,' Williams assured him. 'Now do as I say. Get your man on Mars working on something you can feed to a federal grand jury here and then have the attorney general's office pick that grand jury very carefully. I want her indicted by the end of the month, Clinton. I want her on a ship bound for Earth within twenty-four hours of the indictment being issued. And I want her rotting in a federal prison within six months. Do you understand me?'

'Yes ma'am,' he said, suppressing a sigh. 'I understand.'

She signed off a moment later. A minute after that he was composing a secure email to Corban Hayes on Mars.

One fortunate aspect of the recent troubles between the corporations and the Martians had to do with the recent Agricorp/Interplanetary Food merger. With public opinion being so volatile and unpredictable lately, Agricorp upper management, showing rare wisdom, had decided to put off the scheduled 'mass reduction in force' that it had planned as a result of the merger. Though they still had every intention of laying of more than sixteen thousand people once things settled back down (as they had every confidence things eventually would), fears of more riots or possible boycotts of Agricorp products compelled them to keep everyone onboard for now.

Because of this decision Lon Fargo, greenhouse maintenance technician of eight years service, was able to remain duly employed for the time being, although with a rather large hammer hanging over his head. As such, he was entitled to remain an active member of the Martian Planetary Guard, where he retained his sergeant rank in the special forces division. Saturday afternoon found him at his training rotation out at the MPG base with the rest of his platoon.

Over the last three months they had trained out in the wastelands almost every rotation, honing and refining their techniques on interdicting and destroying advancing APCs. Their mission this week however, was something different, something strange. And, contrary to normal operating procedure, their reasons for practicing such an unorthodox maneuver had not been explained to them, they had in fact been told not to discuss it with anyone outside of the company.

The entire platoon was inside the back corridors of the base, the long halls and hallways where the weapons and ammunition were stored. This was a tightly secured area of course and everyone except the special forces platoons practicing their new maneuvers had been cleared out for the day. In addition, the steel doors that separated sections of the hallway and the actual storage rooms themselves had been locked in the open position and large sheets of four-centimeter steel that had been shipped all the way from New Pittsburgh had been bolted into the doorways in their place. The task of the special forces teams on this day was to breach these simulated doorways and clear the rooms beyond them of 'enemy' troops, which were being played by other special forces platoons and squads.

'What the hell are we doing this for, John?' Lon asked the platoon commander, Lieutenant Yee. 'I mean, it's kind of fun and all, ripping down doors with primacord charges, but what's the point? Our whole mission is to prevent EastHem troops from getting out of the wastelands in the first place. If we ever get to the point where we have to clear them out of the buildings, the war is lost anyway.'

'It's orders from Colonel Bright himself,' Yee said, not for the first time that day. 'Now quit asking about it and just do it.'

Lon shrugged and went about the task of readying his squad for the next breach, which was to be their responsibility. The target in this case was the door to one of the processed food storage rooms just off the main hallway. The steel that was serving as the door stood between them and the room and the resistance inside could be heavy, light, or non-existent. They would not know until they made entry. 'Gavin,' he ordered, 'get the charge up there on that door.'

'Right, sarge,' Gavin said, approaching carefully. Primacord was a shaped high explosive charge designed to cut through rock or steel. It was actually a length of black cord that directed an intense, though compact explosion when activated. He unrolled three meters of it from the five hundred meter supply that Horishito was carrying on his back and stuck it to the door, starting at the floor level and moving up to near the top and then back down to the floor again on the other side. When exploded this would cut a one and a half by one meter hole in the steel, allowing both a firing port and an entry point to the room. He set a detonator into the end of the cord and then backed away.

'Matza,' Lon told the young man on the SAW. 'Get in position. Hose down the interior once we blow it. Make sure there's nobody with a line of fire on us.'

'Right, sarge,' Matza said, putting the weapon down on its bi-pod on the floor and lying down with it. He trained it directly towards the primacord loop.

'Everybody else,' he said, hefting his weapon and flicking off the safety, 'get to the sides. We go in fast and low once Matza clears the corridor for us. You know the drill.'

They knew the drill. They formed up against the wall on either side of the doorway, their weapons ready, their combat goggles active and in targeting mode. Since they were inside, all of them were dressed in Kevlar armor instead of biosuits. They had additional Kevlar protecting their legs and necks to keep from being injured by the helium filled training rounds.

'Fargo to Yee,' Lon said over the command circuit, 'we're ready for action.'