"Sure they did, but they won't admit it."

One of the suits approached Jackson as he stood over the bodies. Speaking over the interLink, Jackson said, "The head assholes are here."

I said, "Keep your men on alert," then I pulled off my helmet and got my first whiff of Spaceport air. It didn't just smell of sweat; this particular potpourri included feces, garbage, and rot.

The men in the suits spotted my dead Marines and stopped walking.

Politicians. I had the feeling that none of these men had ever seen a violent death up close. They stared down at the bodies. By this time, a couple of sergeants were loading the bodies into "ash bags." We would not leave our dead behind, though the locals could deal with the blood. We would ship the bodies back to the Churchill in the bags, fish out any salvageable equipment, then toss whatever remained into an incinerator.

As a Liberator clone, I had the same basic architecture as the newer model that replaced my kind. I had the same face, the same brown hair, and the same brown eyes. I stood six-three, five inches taller than any of the clones around me; but, as the politicians didn't bring a sizing laser for taking measurements, they did not recognize me.

"Are you in charge of this invasion?" asked the man in the suit.

"Invasion?" I asked. "Why would we invade Mars?"

"You have landed on our planet with a large body of armed men."

"I have one regiment; that hardly qualifies as a large body."

"Why are you here?" the man demanded.

I said, "Look, I don't mean to be disrespectful..."

"Yes, you do."

"What?"

"You have come here to threaten us. If you wanted to talk, you would have contacted Governor Hughes through diplomatic channels. Instead, you came with your regiment of heavily armed men."

After that comment, I almost gave in to my combat reflex. I said, "I came to see Gordon Hughes, not you."

"Governor Hughes sent me. If you have something to say..."

"I'll say it to Hughes."

The man was tall and handsome, in his fifties and distinguished-looking. I could tell he'd enjoyed a successful life in politics, and he did not appreciate my attitude toward him. He said, "The Governor is a busy man."

I said, "Yeah? Well, I'd hate to inconvenience him. Let him know that General Wayson Harris stopped by."

"General Wayson Harris?" he asked. He still wasn't sure it was me. To him, we all looked the same. "Did you say you were General Harris?"

"In the synthetic flesh," I said.

"Would you like to see the governor now?"

"That's why I came."

"Yes, sir. We'll go straight away."

"And my men? I don't think it would be wise to leave them here."

"No, sir," he said, suddenly the cooperative fellow.

He was not in charge. He was just a lackey for Gordon Hughes, who might not have been in charge as well. Hughes was officially the governor of Mars Spaceport, but the people seemed to have ideas of their own.

CHAPTER.

SEVEN.

The suits led the entire regiment to the administrative building, then escorted Jackson and me inside while the rest of the men waited in the hall, which was so wide that it looked like a cul-de-sac. There were areas within the spaceport that looked like buildings inside of buildings.

Gordon Hughes could have lived a life of luxury if he returned to Earth; instead, he chose to live like his people on Mars. He lived in this three-story building with his extended family and the extended families of his staff and advisors. Apparently, he allowed himself one luxury-he slept on a bed instead of a blanket; but he did not have a personal shower, bathroom, or kitchen.

The executive offices looked like they must have looked before all the trouble began-bright light shining from the ceiling, a clean beige carpet underneath our feet, and a pretty personal assistant to greet us as we stepped off the elevator.

She was tall and curvy with long blond hair and pale skin. Her eyes were ice blue. She introduced herself as Emily and ushered us to the governor's office.

One of the suits who led us to the building whispered, "That's Hughes's granddaughter."

I thought, If Watson gets ahold of this one, Hughes will wind up a great-grandfather before his time.

Emily Hughes caught Jackson staring at her and gave him a shy smile. The colonel couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Put it on ice, Colonel," I whispered as she opened the door. "We want her grandfather on our side."

Jackson grunted a soft "yes, sir," but his eyes remained fixed.

Hughes met us at his office door. He said, "Good to see you, General," and reached to shake my hand. He and I had met on a few occasions over the last two decades. Some of our meetings had been cordial, but most had not.

I shook his hand.

"Governor, this is Colonel Curtis Jackson," I said.

Jackson and Hughes shook hands, and Hughes led us into his office, which apparently doubled as his home. There was a bed in one corner of the room, Hughes's bed.

The meeting started off on a civil tone.

Once he closed the door, Hughes said, "I suppose you are here about the Night of the Martyrs. I can assure you that my office had nothing to do with that unfortunate event. Colonel Riley has asked me about the incident several times."

"So he tells me," I said.

Hughes said, "I understand EMN Intelligence has had agents investigating as well." Instead of hiding behind his desk, he stood with Jackson and me.

"And you still have no idea who could have been behind it?" I asked.

"No idea." He paused, folded his arms across his chest, and said, "General, these people are loyal to the Enlisted Man's Empire. They are aware of the sacrifices your military has made."

I interrupted him, and asked, "Did you know I lost two men on the way here?"

"Yes, I heard about that. Most unfortunate. I am sure Spaceport Security will find the people responsible."

"Spaceport Security is my people," I said. "What about your people? What are you going to do to help?"

"What do you mean?" Hughes asked. His eyes darted around the room, and he started pacing.

"Two murders have been committed," I said. "Help us bring the killers to justice."

"General, how would you have me help? Your best course of action is to keep me out of this."

"Bullshit," said Jackson. "You know what I see when I looked around the spaceport? I see the beginning of a war. Those Legion banners on the walls out there, they're a call for war."

Hughes ignored Jackson and aimed his answers at me. He said, "I assure you, General, war with the Enlisted Man's Empire is the last thing these people want. What happened in the grand arcade was an accident, a serious and unfortunate accident."

"The Night of the Martyrs was not an accident," I said.

"Those banners aren't an accident," said Jackson.

"Nor are they a call to arms," said Hughes.

"Tell me about Legion," I said.

"There is a religious revival going on," said Hughes. "These people have nothing. They live in squalor. Some of them are turning to religion.

"Look, General, they are refugees with nothing but the blankets on which they sleep. They are impoverished, they are uncomfortable, and they are unhappy. What would you expect?

"It's a common thing. People who have nothing often turn to God. Frankly, I consider the revival a positive turn of events. People in need look for a deliverer. They could have turned to a military figure, but they chose to go with God."

"What does that have to do with Legion?" asked Jackson.

"In order to have a god, you need to have a devil," Hughes explained. "They call their devil Legion."

"What about the Night of the Martyrs?" I asked. "What was that, hybrid military/faith-based salvation?"

"General Harris," Hughes said, drawing my name out, giving it a patronizing tone, "you can't possibly believe those attacks were connected with a spontaneous demonstration in the grand arcade."

He finally stepped behind his desk and sat down.

Even though two chairs had been set out for us, Jackson and I remained on our feet. Jackson said, "I sure as speck see a connection. Those people consider us their enemy. I don't know shit about Legions and devils, but I know war flags when I see them, and those banners qualify as war flags. Those people out there, they're looking for a fight."

Hughes sighed, and said, "They don't want war, Colonel. They know their situation. They know that you feed them and that you rescued them from the Avatari...rescued them twice." He turned to me, and added, "General, they are loyal to the Enlisted Man's Empire. They know what would have happened if you left them on Olympus Kri. They haven't forgotten.

"There are women and children out there...wives and sons and daughters. You cannot possibly believe these men would sacrifice their wives and children."

"Bullshit," said Jackson. He wasn't showing proper respect, but I had decided to give him a long leash this visit. I wanted him to make noise, and I wanted Hughes to see we meant business.

Gordon Hughes may have been a war hero in his youth, but now he was a dried-up old man with white hair and wrinkles. His bloodshot eyes peered out from puffy red rims, and his lips were flesh-colored and dry.

The corners of his mouth drew back in an ironic smile as he said, "What did you expect when you arrived, Colonel, a hero's welcome? Perhaps you were hoping for the red-carpet treatment, Colonel. I'm sorry if we disappointed you."

As a sign of respect for Hughes's office, Jackson and I had left our M27s back with our troops. Good thing. If he'd had his gun, I suspect Jackson might have used it. I saw murder in his eyes.

He said, "No, Governor, when I save people's lives I expect them to throw trash at me. Wasn't that why we pulled your people off Olympus Kri, so they could crush my Marines with their garbage?"

Hughes glanced at me for help. When I said nothing, he turned back to Jackson and asked, "Did you happen to notice the way those people are living out there?"

Jackson said, "Maybe they would have been happier if we'd left them on Olympus Kri. They could have died in the comfort of their homes."

I decided to take control of the conversation. "How did six thousand New Olympians get to Earth?" I asked.

Hughes turned to glare at me, the anger he felt toward Jackson still showing in his eyes. He asked, "Do you think I had something to do with it? Do you think I sent them?"

He calmed down quickly. Jackson had riled him, but Hughes knew how to play the game. He said, "If I had to guess, I would say that they stowed away on a freighter."

"Six thousand men...that's a lot of men to go unnoticed," said Jackson.

"Six thousand out of seventeen million," Hughes reminded Jackson.

I had already done the math in my head. "Small fraction," I said. I believed Hughes when he said he knew nothing about the men who came to Earth.

"Would you have stopped them if you knew about it?" Jackson asked.

"They broke the law," said Hughes. "Aside from questions of right and wrong, Colonel, I am against anything that prolongs our encampment on Mars. Just from a pragmatic standpoint, it seems obvious that their actions would be interpreted as provocation, yes? You see those men as seditious, a threat to the stable government you are trying to create, and your suspicions extend to the entire population of Olympus Kri."

Jackson started to say something, but Hughes put up a hand to stop him. He said, "I understand why you have reacted to the attacks as you have. You asked me a question, and that is my answer. I am against anything that keeps us trapped on Mars."

"But you don't care that they tried to kill two thousand Marines?" asked Jackson, his anger again on the rise.

"Colonel, which answer are you more likely to accept, that I object to the killing of Marines because it is evil or that I object to the killing of Marines because it's politically inconvenient?"

Jackson laughed.

"You still haven't answered the question," I said. "Would you have stopped them?"

"Leaving Mars was a criminal act. I consider them criminals."

"Another dodge," I said.