"If EastHem does agree to assist us, WestHem may try to stop them. I don't believe that they will since this will flash the cold war to a quick heated state, but they might. If they do that I cannot predict what the long-term consequences will be. Again, this is a chance we'll have to take if the vote is yes.
"So you can see that our fate is far from certain if you vote yes. If you vote no, you can all go back to your lives in three days. You can continue to work for WestHem masters and continue to be fired at their whim and forced to be quartered in public housing.
"But know this. This is the best and only chance we will ever get to make ourselves free. If we vote no, WestHem will see to it that this opportunity is never repeated. Never. We will spend all of eternity as WestHem subordinates and second-class citizens. We will spend all of eternity as slaves to that corrupt, evil system.
"I urge you all to think very carefully about this decision, to think not just about your own future, but the future of this entire planet and all of your descendents. It is my feeling that we can win this war, that we can throw these greedy, corrupt Earthlings off of our planet and live in a society ruled by common sense and justice. Talk to others and gather information and, most important of all, keep an open mind. Most important of all — vote. For better or for worse, I ask you to give me that 95% turnout in this most critical decision.
"In the meantime, I'm declaring a two day holiday for all except vital services workers. The planet is not under martial law so you may move about your business as normal and I encourage you to do so. The MPG will remain activated until after the vote and will be patrolling our cities to help the police keep order. Earthlings among us, you are free to move about as you wish as well. It is not my intention to make prisoners of you in this conflict. If the vote is for independence you will be allowed to leave the planet if you wish if transportation is available.
"That is my speech for the day. I hope I have explained myself sufficiently and I hope that you will head my words. Good night, and think carefully about what I have told you."
Orbiting City of Departure—Geosynchronous Earth orbit.
Admiral Tanner Jules was the commander-in-chief of the WestHem navy's Far Space fleet. CINCFARSP was his handle. He was the latest in a long line of naval commanders his family had produced, a direct descendant of the first captain of the first space-going warship that WestHem had ever launched. Though he was mainly a bureaucrat these days, he had seen combat as the captain of a California class warship back in the Jupiter War; a ship that had destroyed two EastHem warships before being crippled by a nuclear torpedo from an EastHem stealth attack ship.
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 —103rd 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."