Chapter 18: Immigrants

New Pentagon, Military Headquarters

Denver, WestHem

Monday, July 17, 2152

“Major, what is the status of your fifth column project?” asked Major General Willister Finch of WestHem Military Intelligence.

Major John Amos scowled. “Moving slowly, sir. Preliminary results have not been as satisfactory as we were hoping for.”

Finch motioned Amos to take a seat. “What problems are you having? Have you had any successes yet?”

“We have had a few low-level successes, murders and mayhem, but nothing major. The Greenies are reporting it as post-traumatic stress reactions. We have not been able to generate any large industrial or mass casualty events yet.” Major Amos took the remote and called up a few examples from MarsGroup News. “A major issue is that not all our Marines are susceptible to coercion. Roughly one in four have no relatives alive to apply pressure to. At least as many have integrated into Greenie society and have married or had children with the communist terrorists. In effect, they have abandoned their WestHem families for Martian families.”

Finch grimaced. “Make sure you determine who these turncoats are. After we take back Mars, the Executive Council has ordered public trials and public executions of all treasonous prisoners.”

“Of course, sir,” Amos replied. The young major knew that InfoGroup and NewsSys wanted televised trials and executions; the Martian wars had been very expensive, and they would need the ad revenues to rebuild their profitability and stock prices.

Amos continued, “The Greenies have figured out we are trying to co-opt the Marines they took prisoner. At first, we were able to keep the program under wraps, but there was an error in identification. Two of the Marines captured had the same name, but only one was susceptible to coercion. The wrong one was contacted and didn’t understand who the people being taken prisoner were. He contacted Martian Planetary Intelligence and alerted them to the issue. Since then, the MPI has begun an extensive counterintelligence campaign aimed at minimizing the impact of the program.”

Finch scowled. “A Marine went to the Greenies and reported a contact? May I assume he has been dealt with? That is treason!”

Amos shook his head. “The order was issued, but our resources on Mars are limited and the Greenies are aggressively searching for WestHem agents. If they get even a hint somebody may be working against them, the individual is taken into custody and interrogated chemically. They also do this with any suspected EastHem agents, and we are questioning our assets in EastHem as to the success of their agents.”

“Just curious, but what happens when they catch an agent?”

The major shrugged. “The interrogation is done chemically, as I mentioned before. We have begun inoculating our agents before we send them to EastHem to arrange for transit. The inoculation induces a toxic response to the most common chemical interrogates. The result is the agent dies before they can be broken.”

“Leaving you with either a dead agent or an agent who has been broken.”

“Precisely. The agents they capture are given a speedy trial and a one-way trip to Dow Prison. We’ve told them that they will be rescued after we take Mars back, but we have nothing to bargain for them. The EastHem agents captured are traded back to EastHem, usually for some form of luxury foodstuff, wine, or liquor,” Amos admitted.

“Huh.”

“The MPI has also begun a quiet campaign to warn the Marines captured about what might be happening here on Earth. It’s not at all clear what they hope to accomplish by that, but we are hearing rumors through EastHem. Worst of all, the Greenies have increased encryption on their planetary databases to a very high level. They have made a deliberate effort to integrate their captives into their society, such as it is. Without access to their communications, employment, financial, or medical databases, it is very difficult to locate captured Marines and naval personnel susceptible to influence. We are currently relying on scanning MarsGroup and running facial recognition software on everybody seen, which is very difficult and slow.”

Finch nodded in understanding. “Continue what you are doing. It’s a long shot in any case.”

Amos nodded. “Yes, sir. There is one possibility. One of the most recognizable faces on MarsGroup News is one of their main broadcasters. One of our earliest agents is an agent identified as Walker Stevens, the undercover name for a WestHem agent born John Taylor Hargrove in Pittsburgh, here in WestHem. He is a graduate of West Point. Why don’t we give him orders to begin finding susceptible candidates?”

Finch thought about that for a minute. “I want to hold off on that for a bit. I know who the agent is. One of the reasons he hasn’t been caught is because we gave him strict orders to avoid attempting to recruit anybody. We wanted him to report the general tenor and tone of what was happening on Mars, and he has been successful at that. In fact, his current position within MarsGroup is one of our better successes. We receive regular reports that mesh with what we are learning through our EastHem sources.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Still, find who is running him and have them send an order to assess the possibility of contacting captured Marines. As I recall, he was the one who interviewed those first Marines that we developed the program for,” finished Finch.

“Yes, sir.”

“And beef up recruiting and training of agents to send through the EastHem pipeline. If we can flood them, the Greenies won’t find them all.”

“Yes, sir.

Hanseatic Park

New Pittsburgh, Mars

Wednesday, July 19, 2152

“Thank you for meeting me, Walker,” said Joe Ducksass. He was sitting on a park bench idly watching pretty girls walk by.

“I had an option?” asked Walker Stevens, WestHem spy turned Martian double agent. Walker sat down next to Ducksass.

“Walker, let’s be pleasant about this.”

Walker sighed and shrugged. Ducksass was his primary contact in the MPI, so it wasn’t surprising that they were meeting. As a MarsGroup reporter, Walker maintained a lot of odd contacts in the Martian government. “What does the MPI want?” he asked.

“Have you read your latest mail from home?”

“No, but I am guessing you have. What impossible task do they want from me now?”

“Read your mail, Walker.”

Walker rolled his eyes and opened his computer. It immediately synced with the Martian communication system and several messages popped up. He skipped past the routine how-is-your-day-and-when-are-you-coming-home items from Tasty and focused on the one he knew came from WestHem Intelligence. He read it twice and muttered, “Oh, shit!” He looked at Ducksass and asked, “Any chance I can get out of this mess?”

The MPI agent shook his head. “No, but we aren’t any happier about this than you are. You know about this program. We’ve talked about it more than once.”

“This is some sick shit, Joe. I mean, intelligence work is shitty to begin with, but this really takes the fucking cake!” He shook his head. “They want me to help them find Marines and Navy people to blackmail by torturing their families back on Earth. That is some seriously next-level fucked up shit!”

“We know, Walker, we know. Listen, what they are asking for is for an assessment of how dangerous it would be to get involved. We want you to report back that it would be extremely dangerous and would almost certainly backfire. We don’t want you involved in this either.”

Walker nodded. “When the fuck is this going to be over, Joe? I am cooperating with you guys, and you know it, but when is it going to be over?”

Ducksass gave the double agent a hard look. “You know the answer to that, Walker. It will never be over. We own you! We own you like a fucking slave! The only difference is that we won’t be torturing your family if you end up in Dow. Congratulations on your engagement. I bet Tasty wouldn’t appreciate knowing you were spying for WestHem.”

For the millionth time, Walker Stevens was sorry he had ever agreed to come to Mars. That hadn’t been a voluntary job either, he recalled. Of course, if he hadn’t joined WestHem Intelligence, he would have probably died by now fighting on Mars as a Marine. Some people were just doomed to be fucked up the ass with sandpaper. “Go fuck yourself, Joe,” Walker said without any heat. It didn’t pay for a slave to get uppity.

“Write a response and send it to me. I’ll run it past some people and get back to you in a day or two. Certainly, before they are expecting it.”

“Yeah.”

Ducksass stood up. “Walker, for what it’s worth, our analysts think the next invasion will be it. It will be bigger than Martian Justice, maybe twice as big, and nobody thinks it will be any more successful. After that, they just won’t have the resources to try a fourth time. They will have spent too much money and too many lives. Talk to your buddy, Paul Winston. He’s Finance’s top analyst on WestHem finances. He says they’re on the verge of falling apart.”

Walker nodded. “Yeah.”

“We ever get to a ceasefire or treaty, this sort of thing with you is probably going to end.”

“Any idea when that will be?”

Ducksass grinned. “Don’t you watch InfoGroup, Walker? Operation Martian Vengeance is scheduled for January 1, 2155.”

“Shit!”

Danny’s Diner

New Pittsburgh, Mars

Wednesday, July 26, 2152

“Thank you for coming, Director. I hope this works for you?” said a slim middle-aged man wearing denim shorts and a white t-shirt.

Marcus Slackass nodded and said, “Of course, Attaché Williams. Always happy to discuss cultural issues with you.”

John Williams was the Cultural Attaché for the EastHem Embassy to the Republic of Mars. Since Martians had zero interest in EastHem culture, it was a convenient location to stash ‘official’ spies. Williams was the senior member of EastHem Military Intelligence on Mars. He was already sitting at a table and waved Slackass over. The two men had lunch together every two or three weeks. As part of their diplomatic agreement, Mars allowed the EastHem Embassy an allowance in credits.

“Thank you. We have so much culture to talk about.”

“Might I say how much more comfortable you seem in traditional Martian attire?”

Williams grinned. “As compared to the traditional formal dress code in London? As long as I take a walk around New Pittsburgh at least once a day, I can dress down as much as I want, and the Ambassador can’t complain. In addition, it drives your counterintelligence people crazy following me around.”

“So, what are we discussing today?”

Williams waved over the waitress to take their orders. “If only you would simply allow some usage of EastHem pounds we could get around that little allowance thing.” Slackass simply gave a dry look and the EastHem spy continued, “Such a tedious refusal. In any case, I wanted to pass along a few items.”

“Oh?”

“First, Ambassador Constantine is being recalled and replaced. You’ll be getting a formal notice through the proper channels, but we’ll be sending him in a regular transport, not with a regular immigrant transfer.”

Slackass shrugged. “It seems a bit early for his replacement. Changes back home?”

It was Williams’ turn to shrug. “Let’s just say that the ambassador’s tenure has not been the success some people hoped it would be. Certainly, the Gustavus Adolphus debacle didn’t help. I’m not sure who the new ambassador will be but since Constantine was a favorite of the German party, the next one will be either British or French.”

“Just let the EastHem Navy know that if they show up in a stealth ship heading for Phobos we will blow them away, ambassador or not.”

Williams nodded. “An unarmed civilian liner only. Got it.”

Slackass asked, “You said there was a second item.”

The EastHem intelligence agent’s face lit up. “You are going to be getting a very special group of passengers in the next batch. You are going to just love these guys!”

“Oh?”

“The Pope has requested the Chairperson of the EastHem Executive Council to allow the Vatican to send a Papal Nuncio to Mars. Chairperson Billings agreed. You’re welcome.”

Slackass returned a confused look. “The Pope? You mean the Catholic Church wants to send us a diplomatic representative? Whatever for? We don’t have anything to do with them.”