Chapter 9: Diplomacy

Executive Council Offices

Berlin, EastHem

Tuesday, November 10, 2150

“Wilhelm, we have a problem,” said Javier Dunmeyer.

Wilhelm Gottlieb looked at his guest curiously and asked, “Javier, what problem would that be?”

Dunmeyer was a Senior Adviser for Interplanetary Trade to the EastHem Executive Council. That sounded innocuous enough, but what it meant was that Dunmeyer was employed by A&C Hydrogen, the corporation that owned the EastHem gas mine on Callisto and the tankers that shipped hydrogen to Earth. Gottlieb was Councilman for Eurasia and represented Kiev, the Moscow ghetto, and Siberia. Gottlieb was owned by A&C Hydrogen. If A&C had a problem, Gottlieb had a problem. The two men were meeting in Gottlieb’s office in Berlin. It was on the one-hundred-eighty-first floor of the EastHem Executive Offices; the only higher office was the main Executive Council Chamber.

“Mars is a problem. Rhea is a problem. We need the Executive Council to solve these problems.”

Gottlieb groaned inwardly. “Javier, Mars has lived up to their side of the contract. They are taking three hundred million tons of hydrogen a month, all from A&C Hydrogen, all delivered by A&C Hydrogen tankers, all paid for by EastHem. Prior to the Martians kicking out WestHem, that is three tankers a month you weren’t selling. How is this a problem?”

Dunmeyer gave Gottlieb a look that said the Councilman was a moron. “There is an implied contract, Wilhelm. They get three tankers of hydrogen a month - and that’s all! If they want more, they can renegotiate. They want more hydrogen, they can ask, politely, and then bargain for it. They don’t get to build a gas mine. I’m surprised you didn’t argue for this when the topic originally came up. It would have been a simple codicil to the treaty.”

“Javier, you seem to think I had any say in the decision. That is very much mistaken. The Martians made a very straightforward deal. Recognition as a sovereign nation and three tankers a month, and they pay with half their surplus food. At the time of the Revolution, that amounted to billions of tons of food a month. Since then, the Martians have been expanding their greenhouses and their agricultural production and sending us even more.”

“Then they were stupid to ship that to us. We should have sold them additional tankers as needed.”

Gottlieb shook his head. “Javier, that deal was a phenomenal deal for EastHem. That much food is a godsend. With the food provided, we have been able to boost our economy enough that A&C Hydrogen has been able to increase their sales here on Earth. You are selling more hydrogen than you were before the Revolution.”

The two men argued another fifteen minutes, but then it was necessary for Dunmeyer to let Gottlieb know who was the employer and who was the employed. “WIlhelm, I’ve known you a long time, and A&C Hydrogen has always considered you a reliable intermediary with the Executive Council. It would be a terrible thing if that relationship were to end, and A&C Hydrogen had to find a different individual to work with at the highest levels of EastHem. Now, we want this situation handled, and quickly. We want that gas mine shut down and any future Martian hydrogen imports to go through A&C. I hope that is clear enough.” He stood and said, “I’ll let myself out. You need to be seeing some people, don’t you?”

Executive Council Offices

Paris, EastHem

Thursday, November 12, 2150

“How can I help you, Councilman Gottlieb?” asked Sylvia Dortsheer. Dortsheer was the Councilperson responsible for Southern Africa, centered on Zimbabwe. She had never been to Zimbabwe and had no desire to. Aside from the glittering cities of Cairo and Capetown, she considered the entire continent a disaster area and needed a continent-wide cleansing.

Wilhelm Gottlieb had considered what Javier Dunmeyer had told him and concluded that Dunmeyer and the rest of A&C Hydrogen were off their meds as far as Mars was concerned. Still, he had to at least look like he was working on the problem, or his sponsors might begin looking elsewhere. The first step to working on the problem was talking to the member of the EastHem Executive Council responsible for Martian Affairs.

“A constituent, an important corporate constituent, has a problem involving Mars, and I suggested that the best way to handle the problem would be to discuss the problem with you. Perhaps you might be able to find a solution for that problem,” replied Gottlieb.

Dortsheer knew immediately what the problem was. Gottlieb was the personal property of A&C Hydrogen, and when they said ‘Jump!’ his response was ‘How high?’ Since well before WestHem launched their ill-fated Martian Justice invasion, A&C Hydrogen had been using Gottlieb as their mouthpiece to complain about how the Martians were building a gas mine in Saturn orbit. In addition, he had all the subtlety of a bull in a China shop. His comments and requests were usually in the form of a loud demand.

“And that problem is?”

“A&C Hydrogen is very concerned about how the Martians are developing their gas mine on Rhea. They are of the opinion that the creation of the gas mine breaks an implied contract built into our treaty of recognition. The gas mine needs to be shut down and dismantled, and the Martians need to understand that in the future they need to obtain their hydrogen from EastHem. A&C Hydrogen will be happy to supply their requirements, but a gas mine violates the spirit of the treaty.”

Dortsheer sighed. “Wilhelm, that is wholly unrealistic. The Martians are scrupulously observing the treaty. The level of food products they are sending us is phenomenal! We are not going to be cancelling this treaty.”

“Fine, don’t cancel it. However, you can certainly inform them of the need to abide by the spirit of the treaty and not just the letter of it,” Gottlieb replied.

“That will never happen, and you know it,” she told him. “You should just tell your sponsor how the Solar System works.”

Gottlieb’s face darkened. Dortsheer had her own sponsors, NestleMondelez and Amalgamated Products, the two largest food companies in EastHem. “And you should tell your sponsors that food travels on ships powered by A&C Hydrogen.”

“That’s fine by me, Wilhelm. They might just want to talk to Mars themselves and buy their hydrogen direct from them!”

“YOU WOULDN’T DARE!” he roared.

Dortsheer realized she might have gone a little overboard with that comment. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t have the power to throw Gottlieb off the Executive Council - at least not yet. One of these days Anthony Billings was going to resign or retire or otherwise leave the office of Chairperson of the EastHem Executive Council and Sylvia Dortsheer planned to be the next Chairperson. “I’ll tell you what I can do, Wilhelm. I can ask our ambassador to discuss this with the Greenies. If they turn you down, that will be it. Take it or leave it.”

Martian Capitol Building

New Pittsburgh, Mars

Monday, November 16, 2150

The contrast between the two individuals was significant. Harold Weatherford Constantine was the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary from the Democratic Republic of the Eastern Hemisphere to the Republic of Mars. As such, Ambassador Constantine was dressed in the full formal uniform expected of an EastHem ambassador: a dark blue single-breasted tailcoat of fine wool with a dark blue silk lining, matching dark blue wool trousers held up by suspenders and with a blue silk ribbon down the outside of each leg, ruffled white silk shirt with a black bow tie, polished black leather knee-high boots, a large golden sash, and a top hat. He had left his apartment in the EastHem embassy, a suite of apartments and offices in a residential/office building and ridden to the Capitol in an open transport cart. He would have preferred a closed limousine, as his station deserved, but Mars simply didn’t have limousines. He was stared at by everybody he passed by and considered this simply proof of his imposing countenance and sartorial excellence.

In truth, the Martians who saw him considered one of two things, that Ambassador Constantine was either an actor in some strange MarsGroup Entertainment vid or proof that Earthlings were really fucked up. The Republic of Mars’ Secretary for EastHem Relations, Jason Clitsucker, was Constantine’s counterpart, the senior Martian government representative who dealt with EastHem. Clitsucker was dressed in standard Martian formal attire, which was the same as Martian informal attire. He was wearing khaki shorts and a red t-shirt with a logo for the New Pittsburgh Space Pirates baseball team, and green canvas shoes.

Ambassador Constantine was ushered into the Secretary’s office by his assistant, who was dressed in a neon green t-shirt and neon pink shorts. Constantine formally walked up to Clitsucker, who was waiting to shake his hand, and bowed. “Mister Secretary, thank you for seeing me.”

“Ambassador, happy to talk to you. How can Mars or I assist you? Take your coat off and have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

Constantine sat down in an armchair but kept his tailcoat on. “Thank you, Mister Secretary, but I am comfortable.” He was actually quite warm, since the temperature on Mars was always a climate-controlled 22 degrees. Still, it was more important to awe the savages and peasants.

“Call me Jason. Now, what brings you to see me?” Clitsucker sat down in an armchair facing Constantine.

The Ambassador reached into an inside pocket of his tailcoat and removed a parchment envelope. He placed it on the coffee table separating them. “My nation wishes to register a complaint regarding the status of the Treaty of 2146 between our nations.”