offense at his treatment by his Earthling shipmates. If he didn't get it under control right quick, he would find himself tossed out of the Navy and virtually unemployable before too much longer. Brett had already had a few talks with him about this.
'It sounds pretty wild, doesn't it?' Brett replied, careful to keep his voice down. They were descending the ladder from the galley area, carrying the last of the eggs from the supply room, which was connected to the spaceport dock by it's own airlock door. Since they were docked the
'It's sounds fuckin' crazy.' Fairfield told him. 'Can you believe those Earthling motherfuckers? Arresting Whiting? Just because...'
'Hush, Fairfield,' Brett barked sharply, looking around nervously at the supply room which thankfully only contained one security person at the moment, and he was on the other corner watching two men pack up milk and powdered juice packages. 'Remember where we are. Remember the talk we had. Be static.'
'Yes sir,' Ingram, his face scowling, nodded. 'It's just that...'
'Shhhh,' Jeff reiterated. 'We'll talk later, once we get out of this ship. We'll go get ourselves a drink, okay?'
'Yes sir,' he repeated, handing over a carton of eggs, which Jeff carried silently over to the pile by the airlock.
They continued to work, unaware that they would not be going to any bars for quite some time.
The Triad Primary control building was near the center of the city, in the worst neighborhood. It rose thirty stories above the street level and was surrounded on all sides by high-rise, low income housing complexes. The street level here was a dangerous place full of intoxicant shops, pawnshops, and massage parlors. The walls and even the ceilings were covered with graffiti of all sizes, colors, and sentiments, most of it illiterate, much of it anti- Earthling in nature. Each housing entrance lobby was a gathering place of the residents here. Most of them were unemployed and living off of the meager allowances of the welfare system. They sat out in front of their buildings hour after hour, day after day, smoking cigarettes of tobacco and marijuana and drinking Fruity. Crime was high in the neighborhood and, before the Whiting reforms of the past few months, there had been multiple incidents of control personnel being assaulted or robbed of valuables, enough incidents so that the Triad Police made a habit of hanging around the building at shift change time and escorting the workers to the tram station two blocks over.
The entrance to the building was much like the capital. Two guards armed with body armor and sidearms controlled access from behind a bulletproof layer of glass. The guards were watching an Internet screen and keeping half an eye on the pedestrian traffic walking back and forth in front of them. Currently the lobby was empty and there was not much going on. Shift change would not be for another three hours.
The channel they were watching was a MarsGroup channel of course. A live news broadcast was in progress from in front of the capital building. Nothing had changed there in the last hour. MPG troops could be seen in force out front and patrolling the perimeter. Pedestrians stayed well away from the goings on. Every once in a while they would clip to other shots; the FLEB building in New Pittsburgh, which was now under a similar guard, and the city jail, where it was believed that the FLEB agents had been taken. In Eden, news teams were reported to be heading for the entrance to the WestHem marine barracks where it was said that some sort of battle was going on.
'Governor Whiting,' said a pretty female reporter of Asian descent, 'has yet to make a statement of any kind in regards to the startling chain of events that has occurred today. It is unknown just where this will all lead. Speculation remains high that the only course of action that Whiting will be able to use is to give herself up to the WestHem authorities on a variety of charges, which now include murder. Like all Martians I find myself...'
'This shit is getting way out of hand,' said Roger Ire, the first guard, to his partner. Like most Martians watching the events unfold he was in a state of shock and disbelief. 'What's gonna happen to Whiting? They're gonna execute her when they finally get their hands on her.'
'I'm not sure that they're
'What?' he asked.
'Like a rebellion,' she said, saying the words that she had been thinking for the past hour. They sounded strange on her lips.
'A rebellion?' he asked, astounded and scared. 'What kind of shit are you talking?'
'Think about it,' she said softly. 'The feds come to take Whiting into custody and the MPG fires on them. A few minutes later a whole group of MPG just appears out of the woodwork and secures the entire capital. There's a general call up of forces and now there are more MPG troops shooting it out with marines at the barracks. What does that all spell to you?'
Hearing her logic spoken out loud he had a hard time coming up with another explanation. 'Damn,' he said slowly. 'Can we do that?'
'You mean legally?' she asked, looking at him as if he were a dumbass. 'I'm pretty sure that WestHem considers it illegal to rebel against them.'
'No,' he said, pushing at her with his hand, 'I mean physically. Do we have the manpower and the weapons to take this planet for ourselves?'
'I don't know,' she said. 'What if they ask you to fight?'
He thought about that for a minute. 'I'd do it,' he said. 'Just give me a gun and I'm out there with them.'
'Me too,' she said.
Their chance to participate in the revolution came sooner than they thought. Their Internet screen changed from the news broadcast to the face of their supervisor. His expression was strange, a mixture of shock and excitement. 'Julie, Roger,' he barked at them, much too loudly. 'There is a platoon of MPG troops heading your way. They are accompanying a Colonel. Let them into the building when they get here.'
Julie and Roger looked at each other silently for a moment. What the hell was this about? MPG troops on Triad?
'Do you understand?' their supervisor asked.
'Yes,' Roger finally replied. 'What is this about? What are...'
'I don't have time to explain right now,' he answered, which they correctly interpreted as 'I don't know'. 'It's orders direct from Sanchez herself. Let them in when they get there and direct them to the VIP elevator.'
'Right,' Julie nodded.
'And let me know when they're on the way up.'
They emerged out of the train platform and marched down the stairway. The stairwell was crowded with dangerous looking thugs hanging out, some of them undoubtedly waiting for fresh robbery victims. The thugs exited quickly as they saw forty MPG soldiers wearing tactical helmets and carrying M-24s out before them. Whatever was going on, they were certainly not going to mess with a platoon of soldiers in any way.
The troops formed a loose diamond formation after leaving the stairwell and began marching down the street towards the control building. A Triad Police officer who was talking to a young gang member about some outstanding warrants for theft saw them approaching and stared in disbelief. She had never seen anything like this before on the streets of Triad. What did it mean? She let the young man go about his business and walked up to the soldier on the point. The platoon halted before her and all eyes turned to her.
'What's going on here?' she asked a little nervously. Events at the capital and at the marine barracks had not escaped her attention and she could not help but draw the conclusion that they were related to this.
The soldier on point said nothing. Instead, a tall man, unarmed but wearing the rank of colonel approached her from the center of the formation. He stared at her, looking at her nametag on her right breast. 'Officer Smith,' he addressed her, 'I'm Colonel Bright of the Martian Planetary Guard. We have been mobilized at the command of Governor Whiting and we are on our way to secure the control building.'
'The control building?' she asked incredulously.
'The control building,' he said levelly. 'We have a mission to accomplish there. Is it your intention to try and stop us?'
'No, of course not, Colonel, but...'
'We are in haste, Officer Smith.' Bright told her. 'Things will become clear to you very quickly. Free Mars,' he hailed using a greeting that had become commonplace since Whiting's inauguration.
