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Grayson Enterprises, California
Senator Ralph Johnson pulled his silver Cadillac with mirrored windows through the security gate of Grayson Enterprises. He drove along the winding blacktop to the rear parking lot until he reached his reserved parking spot.
The senator stepped from his car, brushed his pants with his hands, and closed the door. Pressing his thumb against the car security panel, he said, “Doors lock.”
The doors audibly clicked into the locked position. The horn beeped once and the computer set the alarm. Johnson nervously glanced at his golden Rolex, sighed, and walked up the concrete sidewalk. God, he hated coming here, but only because of Boyd Grayson. Everything else about the property was pleasant, and if he had come for any other reason, he’d have taken the time to enjoy himself.
The sidewalk cut through a most brilliant, lavishly landscaped quad. Bright orange-red leaves on the spreading Japanese maples were breathtaking. The concrete path curved and meandered through a slender forest of weeping cherry trees, lilacs, palm trees, and hardy junipers. Two large brown squirrels bickered over a shriveled cherry, but quickly dispersed when Johnson’s hard-soled shoes clicked in his approach.
In the entire glorious splendor of Grayson’s landscape, Johnson held a bitter taste in his mouth. His stomach churned so badly that acid burned the back of his throat. No matter what Grayson’s empire looked like on the outside, it reminded him of nothing less than the glossy peel on a rotten apple—spectacular to behold, but inside it was filled with putrid, runny goo.
He hated visiting Grayson, but keeping his seat in the California Senate meant he had to appease the wealthy entrepreneur and his unusual political demands. Without Grayson’s financial support, Johnson held no hope of being elected simply because he was an old man and the people wanted someone younger, more popular, and much better looking. He entertained retiring, but he liked the cameras and luxuries as much as anyone else in southern California did. He’d rather die in office than lose his socioeconomic status.
The harsh noon sun struck the towering brass columns with silver-mirrored windows, forcing Johnson to put on his dark shades to shield his eyes. Even with the shades on, the intense glare stung his eyes, making him cup a hand above his eyes because it was impossible to look up. Grayson’s need to shine was even incorporated in the architecture of his enterprise.
Where the sidewalk leveled with the building, a row of gigantic, polished MarQuebes—each weighing well over a ton—were centered as attractive centerpieces to grace the building entrances. The MarQuebes were the first gems discovered from Grayson’s Mars exploration. The stones were dark like rubies but when held into direct light, they revealed their inner purplish hue. The blend of contrasting colors made them a prized stone, and since Grayson was the first and only man to land and stake a claim on Martian mining rights, he controlled the market without the fear of any competition.
Johnson paused outside one of Grayson’s gift shops where tourists often bought small bottles of Martian soil, pebbles, and rocks. On Mars, these were worthless, but to tourists, these prized novelties sold for untold millions. He shook his head in disgust. Were there items people would not buy?
Grayson had invested billions into his Mars excavation projects and reaped one thousand times more than what he had spent. With these endeavors, though, not one soul in Congress had ever dared breathe the words aloud, but they understood that Grayson owned Mars, Deimos, and the crashed remains of Phobos. His status wrought power, numerous friends, and a vast number of jealous enemies.
Johnson climbed the narrow cement stairwell, stopped, and wiped sweat from his brow. Excited children ran around the retired Vortex Shuttle, which was the first successful vessel to ever make a trip to Mars and back.
Other youths played virtual reality space battles on the laser tag field. Another school field trip, Johnson thought. For a price, of course. Everything connected to Grayson Enterprises had a price. Nothing was free. Not even water. No water fountains existed inside of Grayson Enterprises. If anyone wanted water, the vending machines were the only way to acquire it.
Johnson despised Grayson as much as he possessed a treasured need to be considered his friend. Grayson’s greed ran deep, and Johnson’s desire to feast from the table of plenty overwhelmed his rationality to flee and reclaim his soul. Grayson’s money lined Johnson’s pockets. The senator understood that no one stood in Grayson’s way. Opposing Grayson brought painful repercussions, physically or financially. Or both. Sometimes even death.
Several of Grayson’s most outspoken opponents had disappeared without explanation. No conclusive evidence ever surfaced to lay the blame on the tycoon. Money silenced a lot of people—prosecutors and judges alike. Johnson didn’t know a single person who had ever crossed Grayson and walked away unscathed.
Johnson kept his sunglasses on while he walked past several schoolteachers. He couldn’t tell from their expressions if they recognized him or not, so he ignored them. He had better things to worry about than hearing more complaints from parents who insisted that he do something about funding the state’s educational system. Sadly most parents placed the blame on the wrong groups. The more money given to the schools meant the less the students actually learned. School administrators tended to give themselves raises, install unnecessary testing programs, or simply squander the money on other projects rather than inject the money into hiring better teachers or buying educational books. However, no one ever correctly understood those correlations. By the time parents finally figured it out, Johnson would be long dead and gone, if they ever figured it out at all.
Keep dangling the carrot and the ignorant mule will follow.
In his golden years, Johnson realized that he was one of the dumb mules and it was far too late to free himself from his political harness.
Entering through the front brass doors, Johnson was greeted by two of Grayson’s security guards. These were massive muscled men, wearing dark shades and visible earpieces. They kept their suit jackets open, revealing their guns. Their massive sizes intimidated Johnson more than their guns did. He doubted these men ever needed to use their guns.
Johnson stepped through a metal detector. The green light cleared him. He placed his palm against the print scanner. A line of green flashed across the panel.
A computerized voice stated, “Welcome, Senator Johnson.”
Johnson turned, grumbling a few obscenities. A guard stepped beside the senator and escorted him to the elevator. When the silver doors opened, Johnson stepped inside where another guard waited.
After the doors closed, he offered a nervous nod toward the solemn guard. The man ignored his kind gesture and stared straight ahead at the doors. His silence chilled Johnson. With the giant standing beside him, the small elevator made Johnson claustrophobic.
“Perhaps,” he thought. “It’s time I retired from the senate. Stress will kill me sooner than old age can claim me.”
Anything was better than facing the pressure of visiting Grayson. He imagined the amount of horrendous pain these bodyguards could inflict should he ever piss Grayson off. And knowing Grayson, death wouldn’t come fast.
The elevator opened. Another muscled guard waited. Johnson stepped onto the plush carpeted hall and reluctantly followed the man. At times, he wondered if Grayson sponsored his own bodybuilding gym as well as his space conglomerate businesses. He didn’t recall ever seeing any guard that weighted less than three hundred pounds.
The guard turned left at the intersecting hallway, and Johnson followed without hesitation. At the far end of the hall sat Grayson’s gorgeous brunette secretary, Beatrice. They stopped at her desk.
Without looking up, she said, “Mr. Grayson will see you, Senator Johnson. He’s been expecting you.”
He nodded, looking past her. Large tinted windows opened to the most brilliant panoramic view of the blue ocean. The sensation of being on top of the world ran through him. A place Grayson considered his godly throne.
Johnson glanced at Beatrice, but she didn’t even acknowledge that he was still standing beside her desk. She watched the security display screens where cameras spied at the end of each hall, the elevators, and even at the helicopter liftoff pad on the roof.
“This way, sir,” the guard said.
Johnson followed. The guard opened the door, let him pass through, and shut it. No guards stood inside the room. He often entertained the idea that Grayson didn’t want his security team to know exactly how cunning he was. Of course, they were probably paid to ignore any of Grayson’s shrewd activities.
Johnson crossed the room and stood before the desk. Grayson stood from his desk chair and extended his hand.
“Good that you could make it,” Grayson said.
A puzzled expression crossed the senator’s face. “I see you’ve heightened security.”
“Yes. I have my reasons.”
Grayson turned toward the window. He folded his arms and watched the waves crashing on the shore. Several seagulls hovered and admired their reflections in the glass. Grayson took a deep breath.
“I must admit,” Grayson said. “This view is the only reason I prefer this office over the one in my New York high-rise. So peaceful. The tranquility flows like a meandering brook. Don’t you think? This is probably better than your stuffy office paid for by your constituents.”
Johnson wrung his hands. His impatience and frustration had built during his long journey from the parking lot. In exasperation, he blurted, “Sir, what do you need? I do have other appointments today.”
Grayson turned on his heel and faced Johnson. His muscular jaw tightened. The frown on his face made his blue eyes icier, meaner. His tailored Armani suit displayed his muscled arms, chest, back, and shoulders. Grayson was even bigger than his largest guard.
“Do you now? Are they as generous in funding your cause as I?”
Johnson looked down at Grayson’s feet. He feared sparring eye-to-eye with Grayson. “No sir. I’m sorry. They’re not that important. My secretary can reschedule them.”
“Good. That’s what I thought.”
“What do you want?”
Grayson smiled. “I need more prisoners for my mining operations on Mars. The preliminary projects are going well. With more prisoners, we’ll be able to establish the settlements quicker.”
“More? That’s impossible. I’ve freed up as many prisoners as I possibly can to prevent more ethical protests from the civil rights organizations.”
Grayson shook his head. “It’s a shame when prisoners have more rights than their victims.”
“They’re still people. Besides, training and medical exams are expensive.”
“Since when are you worried about the finances? I cover all the costs. I always have.”
“You dispatched one hundred new men for Mars last month. They should arrive in about seven months. That will put you close to two hundred prisoners on Mars once they arrive. And you had seventy men released to you last year for your Deimos project.”
Grayson nodded. “I know. Something’s amiss on Deimos.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve not received any communication from Dr. Frank Carter in over a week. Perhaps their satellite transmission is on the fritz. I don’t know. But I need to train another seventy men, just in case.”
“They may be prisoners, but need I keep reminding you? There’s the issue of human rights. Why not hire qualified laborers? Why use only prisoners?”
“Prisoners are more dedicated to their labor.”
Johnson frowned. “I’d think them more apt to rebel.”
Grayson shoved his thick hands into his pockets. “To the contrary, none have ever rebelled.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Over ninety percent of the men you sent to Mars were the most ruthless murderers on death row. They were the worst of the worst. I’m surprised that you even requested them.”
Grayson shrugged. “They have more freedom on Mars. Such liberation has produced loyalty and their gratitude for having a second chance increases their drive to work even harder. They’re not confined to small cement block cells with metal bars. And should they escape, where are they going to run?”
“Yes, but given that they’re enclosed in the bunkers and mines, who’s to say they won’t rebel and start killing one another? Or your guards?”
“They know their place. But even if they did escape the mines, the brutal terrain of Mars would kill them. They’re safer if they remain workers.”
Johnson seated himself across from Grayson’s desk. “How can you be so confident they’ll stay submissive?”
“They’re under constant surveillance and guarded by men with high-tech laser weapons and sound blasters. Taking another hundred prisoners for Deimos won’t be a problem.”
“A hundred? You said seventy.”
“Any number above seventy won’t be a problem. The more violent the men are, the harder they work. Besides, they have the pride of being the first Earth inhabitants on Mars. They get to see the sun from a different angle and watch the Earth travel across the sky at night.”
“I’m aware of your popular selling point for recruits.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “Your son enjoys space travel, right?”
The senator ignored the question. “Mr. Grayson, exactly what are you trying to accomplish?”
Grayson frowned.
Johnson cleared his throat and continued, “I thought your goal was to settle Mars and establish a civilization.”
“It is.”
“Why not start recruiting qualified people, who aren’t violent, to go to Mars and settle instead of requesting more prisoners?”
“We must set the groundwork first. Why endanger decent, honest people with the drudgery required to establish housing and businesses? You know as well as everyone else in our country that the prison system is an overflowing burden and a large percent of your voters consider them a tax burden on society. And since capital punishment is no longer an option, the problem will continually get worse. I remove them by employing them on Mars. They are paid excellent wages and will be deeded land once we’ve succeeded in settling outside the mines.”
“So you’re proposing to later settle decent people with the ex-cons inhabiting Mars?” Johnson asked. “I don’t believe you’ll find too many eager volunteers wanting to neighbor with the type of criminals you’re enlisting to do your groundwork.”
“Even the worst of men can be broken through manual labor,” Grayson said.
“Careful,” Johnson replied. “I’ve already persuaded the council to believe that you aren’t enacting slave labor.”
Grayson laughed. “Whatever it takes.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Grayson said with an intense glare. He stepped to the edge of the desk and pointed his finger at Johnson. “Keep me happy and your seat in Congress remains safe. Understood?”
Johnson tucked his chin to his chest and stared down at the floor. “Yes, sir.”
“So get me one hundred fresh prisoners in no less than two weeks. Can you do that?”
Johnson loosened his tie and cleared his throat. “Sir, I’d really like to help you, but—”
Grayson’s jaw tightened. Anger burned in his narrowed eyes. “But what?”
The chilling tone made the senator visibly shake. He ran a hand through his silver hair. “Sir, the Prison Release Committee wants to see the results of how well the prisoners are doing. The ones that you already have. They won’t allow you more prisoners until you have proven the work environment is safe enough for the miners and no riots have occurred.”
“More politics?” Grayson asked.
“You might say that.”
“That’s your area of expertise. I’ll tend to my own affairs. You get me more prisoners.”
“Must I remind you that’s it’s far too early for me to approach the committee and request more prisoners?”
“Tell them that I’m expanding,” Grayson replied.
“They’re not fond of your mining projects as it is. They believe you’re monopolizing the Martian frontier, making it impossible for others to set up claims.”
Grayson folded his arms and looked down at Johnson. “I planted my flag on Mars before anyone else, using only my funds. I never asked or borrowed a single cent from anyone else. They’re more than welcome to send their own missions. Until they do, what I claim is mine.”
Johnson sighed. His face flushed red. “No one owns a planet.”
“Senator, I’ve not had any lines of little green men with picket signs protesting my endeavors on Mars. The only opposition I have had is from jealous business people here on Earth. Men too cowardly to take the chances I’ve taken, and these are the same individuals who believe I should offer them my ships, services, and funds to get them to where I’ve already settled. Since I have no competitors, why should they worry about my operations?”
“They believe you’re exceeding your authority,” Johnson replied.
“There is no other authority on Mars. So make my request known.”
Johnson shook his head. “I cannot.”
“Senator, it’s wealthy people like me who line the pockets of politicians like you with money so you can misdirect your voters into believing you’re doing what’s in the best interest of the country. That’s how democracy and capitalism has worked for decades, is it not?”
Johnson shook his head. “That’s not true.”
“No?” Grayson said with his thick arms crossed. His murderous gaze was calloused and cold. “It’s how our government operates. You know it. It’s media manipulation. People believe what they see on the news or read on the Internet. So the media runs with fake catastrophic events like onshore terrorism, the collapse of skyscrapers, and school shootings to get stricter laws passed that take away personal freedoms. And people are so blind that they believe the government has the best solutions to everything. They readily hand over those rights, too.”
“You sound like one of those conspiracy theorists, Mr. Grayson.”
“Theorist? Senator, I’m a part of those conspiracies, just like you and all the other wealthy lobbyists making congressional members richer. We’re setting up a new world through science, laws, and money.”
“What’s your point?” Johnson asked, exasperated again.
“The point is that I have more than adequately compensated you for the little favors you have returned to me. Like the prisoners to help set the population on Mars.”
“As I told you, sir, I cannot do it.”
“Cannot or won’t?” Grayson asked.
“Does that really matter at this point?”
“Need I remind you that you work for me? Or shall I release that video to the press?”
Nervousness quaked Johnson’s stomach. His eyebrows furrowed. He gazed at Grayson with sudden curiosity. “What video?”
Grayson took a controller, pushed a button, and the large flat screen in the corner of the room came on. Behind the curtain at a political rally, the camera zoomed in on Johnson making out with a young, well-shaped brunette, who was possibly in her early twenties. Her blouse was fully unbuttoned and Johnson worked to remove her bra while kissing her.
Johnson shook his head and closed his eyes. His heartbeat increased. How had he been so foolish? Now, he totally understood why the girl had come onto him and never rejected his advances. Grayson had hired her . . . for this.
Grayson hit the pause button. “Need I show you more?”
“For God’s sake, no. Turn it off!”
“I’m not certain exactly how God plays into all of this, but I don’t think Mrs. Johnson would be too thrilled to watch this on the evening news, do you? The online tabloids would have a day with it, too. They tend to be quite brutal. Do you wish for her to learn of your . . . indiscretions?”
Johnson loosened his tie even more. His face paled. “No, sir.”
“Don’t forget who’s in charge here, senator. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”