Martian Balance
Copyright© 2025 by rlfj
Chapter 7: Diplomacy and Death
Triad Commercial Dock Control Room
Triad Naval Base, Mars Orbit
Wednesday, March 18, 2235
“Is this for fucking real?” asked Lieutenant Commander Greenbud Smith. He was the night commander of the Commercial Docks. Even though loading and unloading happened around the clock, most managers went home at night; the daytime commander was a Captain. Smith had just received orders, as had the entire Triad Naval Base, to initiate Case Bravo, a total lockdown and evacuation of all commercial ships from Triad.
Before anybody could respond, the main screen in the Control Room lit up with the image of Rear Admiral Clayton Finch, the commander of Triad Naval Base. “Greenbud, I assume you got the lockdown order.”
“Yes, we all did. Permission to ask what the fuck is going on?”
Finch grinned. “I’d have been surprised if you hadn’t asked. Quick answer, we’re at war with WestHem, they just don’t know it yet. More details will be available later this morning, but right now we need to clean out the fucking docks! I want every goddamn WestHem and EastHem freighter at least a hundred kilometers away from here and away from each other, and I want it yesterday. If anybody gives you grief, the MEF can arrest him while we use a tug to haul his worthless ass away. Full Case Bravo!”
“Understood.” The Admiral’s image disappeared, and Smith turned to the remainder of the control room crew. “You heard the man. Jerry, get the tugs warmed up. Bob, get the MEF out to each ship. Start shutting things down right the fuck now.”
Case Bravo was the response to a worst-case scenario for an opening move in a theoretical war started by WestHem or EastHem. For a century it had been recognized that the most exposed Martian city to attack was Triad, where two million Martians were involved in supporting both the Triad Naval Base and the Triad Commercial Docks, where the food freighters from Earth docked and the hydrogen tankers from Saturn unloaded. The worst-case option was for a hidden nuclear warhead carried on a freighter to be exploded by remote control from Earth. Two hundred megatons would destroy the base and Triad City as well as trash the Martian orbitals. That was one of the reasons the Phobos Shipyard had been built and was military/naval only. If Triad disappeared, the war would be fought from Phobos.
Case Bravo required every non-Martian freighter to be removed from Triad immediately, and for docking rights to be terminated for everybody, Martian ships included. The base would be emptied, making it much less dangerous for everybody. A minimum of one hundred kilometers between ships was thought to be safe enough, though more would be better.
“We have two WestHem and three EastHem freighters loading, and four more docking in the morning. No tankers are in port, but one will arrive in two days,” said one of the Control Room staff.
Smith replied, “Order those incoming ships to stand off and orbit two hundred kilometers away from anything else. If they give you any shit, have the Admiral send a Belting to warn them off. They can argue with the fucking Navy. Let’s make it happen, people. By the time the day shift arrives, I want them to be able to jerk off and take a nice long nap because the docks will be empty.”
That got a good laugh as people turned to their consoles. Within minutes the orders had been given. It would take the better part of an hour for the first space tug to get in position, but the MEF would be at each dock well before then. Any Earthling captain who refused was going to be in handcuffs if he complained.
The three EastHem captains all complained about the order to leave Triad but didn’t push it. Gastronomie Flyer and Gastronomie Trader both undocked and slowly moved away from the dock area. Gastronomie Marvel didn’t, however, since they had just docked and the crew was all in Triad getting drunk and laid. The duty officer, practically the only Earthling on the ship, was forced to stand back as loading was stopped and the docking locks were blown off before a tug grappled the ship and pulled it away from the dock.
The two WestHem freighters, AgriCorp Wonder and AgriCorp Traveler, were not treated as politely. The MEF forced their way into both ships, arresting every WestHem officer and crewman they could find. Then they were cut loose from the dock and tugged two hundred kilometers away.
The only problem came when Captain Hotaling of AgriCorp Brilliance decided he was as brilliant as his ship’s name. They were inbound from Departure City in Earth orbit and, “I am not taking any shit from Greenie scum. We are going to dock, and you vermin can deal with it!”
The vermin decided that Captain Hotaling was an asshole. Sugiyoto put a low power laser blast into the side of the freighter, burning a hole three meters wide and ten meters deep into her hull, and that woke Hotaling up. He immediately complied with the order to divert from Triad, wondering how he would explain it to his bosses back in Kansas.
By the time the day shift arrived, the commercial docks were empty. Lieutenant Commander Smith even had his team make preparations to greet the morning crew. Rear Admiral Finch had a good laugh when he heard about the hammocks hanging from the ceiling.
Martian Capital Building
New Pittsburgh, Mars
Wednesday, March 18, 2235
MPI agents, backed up by a platoon of armed and armored MPG soldiers, took the elevator to Floor 78 of the Martian Capital. Floor 78 was dedicated to the WestHem Consulate and included their offices and housing. Floors 80 and 81 were dedicated to the EastHem Embassy; embassies ranked higher than consulates in Earth-based diplomacy and were larger, which the average Martian didn’t care all that much about.
Early on, Martian Planetary Intelligence had debated where to house the EastHem Embassy. Give them a separate building? That was extravagant by any standard, since the embassy was so small. Put them in an existing commercial or residential structure? Better, but they needed to be monitored all the time.
Then somebody said they got an idea from an ancient WestHem vid on criminals, how the head of one criminal organization said to ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ It was decided to put them on a heavily monitored floor of the Martian Capital Building, with serious restrictions. Nobody could enter the Embassy floor without permission ahead of time. Similarly, every EastHem diplomat and assistant would be required to use a keycard to enter or leave the floor their embassy was on, and they could not enter a different floor without authorization and escort by MPI or MPG security.
Floor 80 would be for the EastHem Embassy, but Floor 79 would be where the MPI monitors would be. Eventually, EastHem would grow to Floor 81, and when WestHem got a consulate, they were given Floor 78, so they could be monitored from above while EastHem was monitored from below.
MPI Agent Barbara Broadass led her team down the hallway to Suite 7814. Another team had agents and soldiers in every stairwell in the building. When she got to Suite 7814 she noticed the elaborately engraved sign on the door - Consulate of the Democratic Alliance of the Western Hemisphere. As far as she was concerned, it was the Consulate of the Assholes and was best treated as such. Next to her was Lieutenant Maxwell Fahrvergnügen of the MPG.
“Take the door, Max,” she said.
“Don’t we have to knock first, or something?”
She smiled. “We are not visiting your saintly grandmother, Max. We are taking into diplomatic custody agents of an enemy nation. We will be polite, but we will be careful, and we will be in charge. Take the fucking door.”
“Right!” He stepped up to the door and touched the entry pad; nothing happened. Next he held up a ‘skeleton key’, a universal override; again, nothing happened. Now, more annoyed than anything else, he motioned an ordnance team forward. “Better step back, miss.”
Barbara smiled at being called ‘miss’, she was twice the lieutenant’s age, but she tried to keep in good shape and the young officer was very cute. “I’m not surprised. They’ve been here long enough that one of their tech guys has managed to reprogram the master code. Blow it.”
“Guys, you heard the lady. Blow it!”
First ‘miss’ and now ‘lady’? Barbara was liking Max, big time!
A sergeant and a private quickly unrolled a thin bead of explosive around the edge of the door, then inserted a detonator. The sergeant then motioned everyone away, while he and the private took positions on either side of the doorway. “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” he yelled. A split second later there was a loud CHUFF and a bright light around the door. Drawing his sidearm, he turned and kicked open the metal door, now hanging by a few molecular threads in the opening. A squad of MPG troopers surged through the doorway, followed by MPI Agent Broadass.
A stunned group of people were standing in the lobby, staring at the Martian soldiers. They were all wearing traditional WestHem business clothing, dresses and high heels for the women and three-piece business suits for the men. Barbara, on the other hand, was wearing a tight white t-shirt without a sports bra, tight red shorts, and comfortable canvas shoes that would be called sneakers in WestHem. “What is the meaning of this?” demanded a man who thought he was probably important.
Barbara walked up to him and held her comm device up to his face. A name and title came back on the screen, Jason Hargrove, Deputy Consul. “Where’s the Consul?” she asked.
“Who are you and what is the meaning of this? This is outrageous!”
Barbara turned to the MPG officer. “Cuff him. Fucking cuff them all! Don’t use a gag unless the noise level gets too loud.” Max nodded silently and motioned his men forward. They had all been provided with plastic Handi-Cuffs and began cuffing people behind their backs.
Hargrove was the kind of diplomat who believed that the louder he yelled, the more likely the peasants he had to deal with would cower before him. “I demand to talk to your superior! I will have you in chains in Denver!”
“Him you can fucking gag.”
Max laughed and took the gag patch and slapped it over the Deputy Consul’s mouth. It shut him up but was porous enough he could breathe through it if he had to.
Barbara turned to one of the secretaries and asked, “Where’s the Consul?” The terrified young woman shook her head and refused to answer, but the MPI agent noticed her eyes going to a door at the end of a hallway. “With me!” she ordered. This door was also locked but wasn’t anywhere near as stubborn as the outer door. The skeleton key worked fine, and the Martian intruders burst in to find an older man with his pants down sitting in an armchair while a naked young woman knelt between his outstretched legs giving him a blowjob.
“What is going on?” demanded the man, his erection flagging as the naked woman scurried away.
“Put your goddamn pants on. This is bad enough, but I don’t need to see that excuse for a prick,” said Broadass.
“How dare you!”
Barbara held her comm unit up to his face. A green light indicated she had the Consul. “Consul Darryl Waters, my name is Martian Planetary Intelligence Agent Barbara Broadass. Inasmuch as the Democratic Alliance of the Western Hemisphere has committed acts of piracy against the Republic of Mars, Governor Bonghit has declared that a state of war exists between our two nations. According to the Geneva Convention of 2022, which was signed by both WestHem and EastHem, diplomats trapped in a warring nation will be sent to a third-party nation for internment and repatriation to their home of origin. While Mars is not a signatory to the Geneva Convention, WestHem is, and we will give you the courtesy of holding ourselves to the formalities. Unlike WestHem, for instance, when they killed forty-five thousand Martian citizens stuck on Earth during Martian Hammer. Also according to the Geneva Convention, this is no longer considered any form of WestHem territory and any and all possessions within are now Martian property.”
“How dare you! This is ridiculous,” replied the Consul.
She looked at the lieutenant and said, “Cuff him, gag him, and bring him down to the back lobby, along with every-fucking-body else. We’ll transport them to the shuttle port. I’ve been told the Navy is sending them to EastHem. They can deal with these assholes.”
“Got it.” Max waited until the diplomat had pulled his pants up before cuffing and gagging him. Then he ordered his troops forward, to open every door and bring anybody found out. He and the MPI agent checked identities against a master list. Those missing would be searched for and rounded up.
Agent Broadass smiled at the MPG officer. “Max, when we’re done with this, care to get a drink? I know a nice bar near the shuttle port.”
“Clancy’s Tavern?” asked Lieutenant Fahrvergnügen. He was hoping to have a chance to speak to Agent Broadass. Sure, she was older, but not that much older, and she had a great set of tits under her white t-shirt. Broadass nodded, and the officer smiled. “Nice place. Maybe a drink or two and we can take a walk through the park across the street after?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Barbara Broadass had been married twice and divorced twice. She figured she just wasn’t marriage material but was as horny as the next bitch. A morning in the park with a healthy young soldier sounded like a great idea.
Martian Capital Building
New Pittsburgh, Mars
Wednesday, March 18, 2235
They didn’t do a whole lot on Mars that could be called fancy, and governmental speeches weren’t one of those things. There had been an announcement the night before that an emergency address by the Governor would be happening at 1100 the next morning. Behind the scenes, Senators and Legislators were rushing to New Pittsburgh as soon as they got the message. While political parties were prohibited by the Martian Constitution, there were various factions and groupings. Both Drunkenbitch and Biebersley had sent the word that it didn’t matter what your political leanings were, you were to be in your seat the next morning or face the consequences. What those consequences involved were left unstated, but a Congressional Censure was implied.
When the Congressmen entered Whiting Hall, they found the Planetary Security Group already present and sitting in the front row. Even Admiral Bongwater had flown down from Triad to be present.
At 1103, with every Legislator and Senator who could be present, Governor Bonghit came out a door to the side of the hall. There was loud applause throughout the hall, orchestrated by the Chief Legislator and the Chief Senator; the word had been passed - failure to support the Governor that morning would result in a loss of committee seats.
The Governor walked to the podium and the applause petered out. He glanced at the holoprompter and paused for a second. Then he began. “My fellow citizens. Thank you for allowing me to interrupt your normal schedule. I would not do this unless it was necessary. I also thank your Senate and Legislature for giving me this chance to speak to you. Finally, I thank the Planetary Security Group for the assistance they have provided me in what will be one of the most dangerous periods in Mars’ history.”
He paused as a low murmur swept the room. “Several days ago I had to tell you that we had lost a cruise ship, Saturn Voyager, and that loss was being investigated. That investigation is now finished, and I must tell you what has happened. This is a speech no leader ever wants to make, but I have to face you now with the facts. Saturn Voyager was lost to WestHem pirates, as was our tanker Fart Bomb. Mars is now at war with WestHem.”
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