Chapter 17: Repercussions

Martian Capitol Building

New Pittsburgh, Mars

Tuesday, September 28, 2151

“Harry, so good of you to come over. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced by the request.”

The Honorable Harold Weatherford Constantine, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary from the Democratic Republic of the Eastern Hemisphere to the Republic of Mars, considered the use of his name, especially an unwanted nickname, a diplomatic affront of the first water. He also knew that complaining about it to these barbarians would accomplish nothing. It was just one more thing he would have to eat until he rotated back to civilized life in London. “I was happy to meet you, Mister Secretary. How can the Democratic Republic of the Eastern Hemisphere assist the Republic of Mars?”

The Secretary for EastHem Relations, Jason Clitsucker, smiled. “You can come with me. I have a transport cart waiting for us downstairs. I would like you to meet some visitors.”

“Well, I am at your disposal. Who are these people?”

“I’ve never met them myself, but Governor Tesla asked me to invite you to meet them, so here we are. If you would come with me?”

“Most mysterious! Well, as you wish.” Constantine stood up and followed Clitsucker towards the door.

As usual, the Ambassador was wearing his full diplomatic uniform, from the top hat down to the riding boots, with the tailcoat, ruffled shirt, striped trousers, and sash in between. It was an outfit guaranteed to generate attention. On Earth it signified power and privilege, on Mars it was a source of laughter. In contrast, the Secretary was wearing his uniform, red shorts and a white t-shirt, and white canvas shoes. He was sure that he was considerably more comfortable than the Ambassador.

They rode down the elevator to the ground floor, where a police cart was waiting for them. A pair of police officers were standing by the cart drinking coffee. The senior cop, a small woman, noticed their approach and said, “You the diplomats?”

“That would be us, Officer ... Transom,” replied Clitsucker, reading her name tag.

“You guys don’t have transport of your own?”

“Not really. It was you or an MPG APC, and that seemed a little overkill. Most of the time I just walk or take a tram.”

Transom shrugged. “Well, hop in. Where are we going?”

Clitsucker answered, “The MIS landing area. We’re meeting some people.”

The junior officer opened the rear door of the cart, and the Secretary smiled and motioned the Ambassador into the rear of the police cart. He climbed in after Constantine and the police officers closed the doors and got in front. It was a twenty-minute drive to the Martian Immigration System complex near the landing tarmac. Ambassador Constantine spent the twenty minutes seething internally about the treatment he was receiving. On Earth, an ambassador traveled in an escorted limousine. Here, he was a prisoner in a police cart.

When they got to the Martian Immigration Service offices the cart stopped and they were let out. “Why are we meeting people at the Martian Immigration Service?” asked Constantine. “Who are we meeting at the Martian Immigration Service?”

“Come with me, Mister Ambassador.” Clitsucker wasn’t smiling any longer. “We have some colonists here that you should meet. Unfortunately, it turns out that they aren’t suitable as colonists, so we are sending them back.”

“Excuse me!”

“Ambassador Constantine, follow me.” The Secretary walked towards the door and waited for Constantine to follow. “That wasn’t a request.”

Inside, an Immigration officer led them through corridors and airlocks into a waiting area. Inside were rows of chairs bolted to the floor, and ninety-seven men and women dressed in red-and-white striped shorts and shirts, with POW on the front and back of each shirt. Armed MPG soldiers were at each entrance, and they weren’t smiling.

“What is going on, Mister Secretary?” demanded Constantine.

“This is the crew of the Gustavus Adolphus, a Henry-class stealth ship of the EastHem Navy. They were ordered to transit from Callisto to Saturn, where they were to destroy the Martian gas mine facility on Rhea as well as Whiting City. Do not attempt to deny any of this. We have recordings of crewmembers discussing it. They left Jupiter orbit in December of last year. We captured the Gustavus Adolphus as they were approaching Saturn in stealth mode in July of this year. Inasmuch as Mars declared Saturn a military and naval exclusion zone in 2148, and EastHem acknowledged receipt of the declaration, that makes this an act of war. Were you aware of this armed attack on a Martian colony, Mister Ambassador?”

“We categorically deny any such attack and protest this unwarranted assault on the dignity of the Democratic Republic!” blustered Constantine. What the fuck was going on? What in the hell was A&C Hydrogen up to now? Shit!

“Good for you. Now, Mars has accepted thousands of EastHem’s problem children over the last few years, and are generally pleased with the results, but this is a step too far. We have enough problem with WestHem prisoners of war, we sure don’t need EastHem prisoners of war too!” said Clitsucker.

“Mister Secretary!”

“Mister Ambassador, you know Martians have a reputation for blunt talk, so here’s some blunt talk. Shut the fuck up! Last year you told me that EastHem wanted us to shut down the Rhea gas mine and I told you no. So EastHem decided to shut it down anyway? Boy, look how that worked out!”

“This is preposterous!”

“Again, shut the fuck up! We are sending these assholes back to EastHem on the freighter going back this evening. Unless you want to ride back with them, you will shut the fuck up!”

The ambassador shut the fuck up. He remembered that before being named Secretary for EastHem Relations, Jason Clitsucker had commanded an armored cavalry regiment during Martian Hammer, an armored cavalry regiment that got hit hard in the New Pittsburgh trenches. While he desperately wanted to return to Earth, being sent home in a prisoner transport was not the way he wanted to travel.

Clitsucker turned to the MPG officer in the room. “Okay, load these assholes on the shuttle and send them up to the freighter. Make sure to tell the freighter captain that they are to be delivered to EastHem and not get dumped out along the way, and we’ll know if he does it anyway.” He saw Ambassador Constantine’s face turn red, and he shook his head. “Make sure you tell him that.”

The MPG captain said, “Understood.” He turned to the other soldiers and said, “Move them out!”

Clitsucker ordered Constantine to follow him back out to the street, where the police cart was still waiting. “Now, Mister Ambassador, these officers will take you back to your embassy. I want you to contact your home office and discuss what happened here today. I think you should be absolutely clear with them that Saturn is off limits. The next time a foreign warship shows up in Saturn orbit we won’t be taking prisoners. We will blow them away without a warning and without a qualm. Make sure you tell your bosses exactly that.” He motioned for the two police officers to take the ambassador away.

Before he headed back to his office, Clitsucker commed Marcus Slackass, the Director of Planetary Intelligence. “It’s done, Marcus. Now it’s your turn.”

A&C Hydrogen Gas Mining Facility

Callisto, Jupiter Orbit

Tuesday, September 28, 2151

The signal that arrived from Mars was buried in routine message traffic, routed first through a satellite in Mars orbit to an EastHem satellite in Earth orbit owned by NewsComp, the major EastHem Internet company. From there the signal was sent through commercial channels to the Callisto headquarters of A&C Hydrogen, where it was dispersed through intercompany message traffic to every tanker in their fleet as a routine programming update.

A&C Hydrogen owned one-hundred-fourteen interplanetary hydrogen tankers, with capacities ranging from eighty-nine to one-hundred-nine million metric tons of liquified hydrogen. These tankers, highly automated and manned with minimal crews, went from Jupiter to Earth, where they offloaded their cargo to feed the insatiable demand for hydrogen by EastHem and the lunar colonies owned by EastHem. Empty, they transited back to Jupiter to be refilled and turned around. Over five billion metric tons of hydrogen were in this interplanetary pipeline at any time, and another two billion tons were stored in gigantic orbital tanks around Callisto, waiting to be loaded into the empty tankers arriving from Earth. It was a massive industrial operation.

The one-hundred-fourteen tankers were made by several different orbital shipyards and consisted of eleven different specific classes. The classes were almost identical, differing only by size and minor technical details. One of those details was the brand of secondary liquid hydrogen control valves installed in the tertiary pumping transfer manifolds. The eight EastHem tankers of the A&C Star class used the Barens Manufacturing F27B valve series and used software that was frequently updated by automated uploads.

Thirty minutes after the routine download of the latest software patch, every F27B on an A&C Star-class tanker froze in an open position. This caused liquid hydrogen to leak backwards into the unpressurized secondary feed pipe in the main feed system. Since liquid hydrogen was transported at -255 degrees and the empty secondary feed pipe was normally at -143 degrees, there was a serious thermal shock. The secondary feed pipe, a major pipe that was only used during loading and offloading operations, immediately shattered. The automated pressure sensors immediately opened the emergency blowout valves, preventing a catastrophic depressurization into the crew compartment. Within five minutes of the software patch being implemented, a million tons of liquid hydrogen a minute were blowing uncontrollably into outer space. In less than two hours, the five A&C Star tankers then transiting to Earth were empty shells. Half a billion tons of hydrogen were lost forever.