 Why does Lane want to go to Mars?
MUTINEER By ROBERT J. SHEA Raging , Trooper Lane hovered three thousand feet above Tammany Square. The cool cybrain surgically implanted in him was working on the problem. Just a little time off, so I shouldn't blow my top. The black dog was on Lane's back. The humming paragrav-paks embedded beneath his shoulder blades held him motionless above Newyork's three administrative towers. Mayor's Palace. Court House. They keep Troopers in the Armory and teach them how to fight. They don't teach them about their own city, that they'll be fighting for. From seven years old up, Troopers have too much to learn about fighting. Old cybrain, a gift from the Trooper surgeons, compliments of the city, would have to figure out which one. Two black paragrav-boats whirred along the translucent underside of Newyork's anti-missile force-shield, the Shell. Lane somersaulted. Cybrain had taken charge of his motor nerves. Lane's own mind was just along for the ride. He began to plummet down, picking up speed. A predatory excitement rippled through him as he sailed down through the air. Lane dropped lightly to the floor, inside the room, in battle-crouch. "Lashing police with his vibray," said the announcer, "Lane broke through the cordon surrounding Manhattan Armory. Tammany Hall has warned that this man is extremely dangerous. Citizens are cautioned to keep clear of him. Lane is an insane killer. A built-in electronic brain controls his reflexes—" "At ease with that jazz," said Lane, and a sheathed finger snapped out. The two police boats were hovering above the towers. Lane's mailed hand snapped open a pouch at his belt. The force-bomb "exploded"—swelled or inflated, really, but with the speed of a blast. A section of the energy globe bellied out from above. It shaded the view from his window and re-entered the tower wall just below. "Trooper Lane, of the Newyork Special Troops, is all." Orange or green is the action. Built, Lane saw. I am a diplomat of the Grassroots Republic of Mars. This is an embassy, if you know what that means." If you've never heard of diplomatic immunity, you'll suffer for your ignorance." "I'm the guy they told you about on the 3V. Where's the Mayor? "No. "Force-screen. Nothing gets past, except maybe a full-size blaster-beam. "I told you, I'm an ambassador.
 To have a chance to make his own decisions
 To fulfill a mission he has been assigned  To follow Gerri Kin, for love  To have a chance to make his own decisions  To learn more about a place that is not the Armory