Defying Mars (Saving Mars Series-2) (11 page)

“Sit,” ordered Pavel, pointing to the area of Ethan’s chair intended as a footrest. “And hold on tight.”

Brian Wallace raised an eyebrow. “Thank ye, but I’ll stand,” he replied, stepping onto the footrest and gripping the arms of the chair with all the dignity he could muster.

“Ethan, re-engage the chair’s overdrive,” said Pavel.

As they blasted out of the building, Brian swearing up a storm, Pavel heard the sound of a large craft. This time it was no commute cruiser. A sleek black ship hovered just over the edifice.

Pavel cursed and aimed the hoverchair back beside the satellite facility, hugging the building as he pushed forward.

“Lad, the ship’s that way,” said Brian Wallace, pointing to the side.

“I know,” said Pavel, “But Lucca has strict disincentives for anyone in Red Squadron to fire upon buildings in Budapest. The government looks weak if buildings go up in smoke here in the capitol.”

“Sounds like our Chancellor,” muttered Brian.

There followed several tense seconds as Pavel raced across the street. Sure enough, just as they dashed across to hug another building, a small missile was directed to where they’d been a moment earlier, striking the middle of the street.

Pavel swerved to avoid flying debris.

“Give the ship the order to open the hatch
now
,” Pavel shouted to Ethan.

The door remained closed and it looked as though they might crash into the side of their getaway vehicle, but at the last second, the door engaged and the three shot inside, coming to a jarring halt.

“That was cutting it close, Jaarda,” shouted Pavel.

“Figure of speech,” murmured Brian Wallace.

“Everyone hold on to something
now
,” said Pavel. He’d already rumbled the ship to life, the hatch still closing. Pavel lifted off and turned his craft sideways to hug the buildings once more.

The secures’ craft, bulky and deadly, took chase at once, firing as Pavel brought his ship alongside the facility they’d just fled.

A smattering of armaments flashed past, missing Pavel by centimeters, piercing the roof of the satellite facility.

“
Shizer!
” called Pavel. “Hold on!” Pavel pulled the ship away from the exploding building, up into a straight climb that would have been impossible in his aunt’s ship. Then, looping over and swerving off to the left, he engaged the ship’s powerful thrusters.

“Ethan’s eyes just closed,” Brian shouted.

“Wallace, take over for me here!” called Pavel, jumping up from the pilot’s seat and dashing to the back of the craft.

Brian struggled to pull himself forward and then assumed command of the helm, flying the ship swiftly, outrunning their pursuers. Another powerful blast sounded from behind them and Brian veered hard to port.

“Hey,” cried Pavel. “Trying to treat a patient back here!”

“Apologies,” returned Brian Wallace. “Trying to avoid missiles up here. There now. We’re out of range. Treat away, lad.”

“Come on, Ethan, wake up,” muttered Pavel. “I made a promise to keep you safe, man.” He ripped the seal on a med-patch and slapped it on Ethan’s forearm, then grabbed a length of skin-seal and applied pressure to both an entry and an exit wound. “Come on, man, wake up.
Wake up
.”

Ethan’s eyes fluttered and opened. “Pavel,” he said softly.

“You’re going to be just fine,” said Pavel to his patient. Then he turned his attention to the front of the ship. “Get us somewhere safe, Wallace.”

The dirt-brown ship pulled to starboard as Brian Wallace said, “Aye-aye, sir.”

“The satellite facility,” said Ethan. “I thought I saw …”

“Yeah, man, I’m sorry,” replied Pavel. “It’s toast.”

“Not a literal description, I assume?” asked Ethan.

Pavel thought about the flames engulfing the building they’d just fled. Toast sounded about right. “No,” he said. “Not literal. But the building’s gone, just the same.”

“That will render my task impossible,” said Ethan. Then he closed his eyes, a pinched look upon his face that Pavel didn’t think came from wound pain.

Pavel felt terrible. Could he have flown the ship differently? Probably. “I just didn’t think they’d fire on a building,” he said at last. “Lucca will
kill
those guys for blowing up a building in the city limits. They know that.”

Ethan’s eyes closed for several minutes. Pavel checked his vitals. His body would be fine. But his mission? What would it do to Ethan’s mental health? At last Ethan reopened his eyes.

“Pavel,” he said, “I believe it is time for me to consult with my remaining crew. Might we visit Harpreet next?”

Brian Wallace turned back, an eyebrow raised.

“Please,” said Ethan. “I require her advice.”

Pavel nodded, heartsick for his mistakes of the last ten minutes.

“Oh, I do love a good rescue,” said Brian Wallace, rubbing his hands together with childlike delight. Then he punched in the coordinates of the “New Timbuktu Gold Processing and Re-educational Center for the Retirement of Criminals,” Harpreet’s last known place of residence.

13

HE WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME

Jessamyn returned home from her long conversation with the Secretary General feeling exhausted. She discovered her father and mother had put off evening rations for her arrival.

“You should have eaten,” said Jess, feeling guilty. “They could have kept me there for hours.”

“Well, they didn’t,” her mother replied tersely. “Shall we?” She gestured to the rations table where food and drink had been carefully laid.

Jessamyn sat in the chair that had been hers as long as she could recall, noting again the patent emptiness of her brother’s place at the table. She gazed at the date stamp upon the ration as she opened it.

“Your grandfather used to do that,” murmured her mother.

Jess looked up.

“He would check every bar for the Terran date stamp,” explained Lillian, her voice soft.

Jess’s father chuckled. “So he would.”

“Harpreet did it, too,” said Jess, feeling hopeful at her mom’s conversational turn. But then she asked herself,
What are you hoping for?

She didn’t know.

“Mars will feel a smaller place without her,” Lillian said. “It’s been so hard. So much harder than I thought it would be.”

Jessamyn looked up. Her mom’s eyes glistened.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you and your brother both,” said her mother. “It’s good to have you home safe.”

Jess sipped her water. It tasted like dust. She carried her now-empty wrapper to the recycle mech. Watched the copper-colored foil as it fed slowly out of sight. She stood for a moment beside the rations room counter, uncertain whether she wanted to stay with her parents or just be alone.

Stay
, she told herself.
Stay.
Sidling past her mom, Jess shot a hand out to give her mother’s shoulder a quick squeeze. On the table, shining in the softened artificial light, Jess saw two spots of moisture. Her mother was crying. Lillian Jaarda did not waste water.

“Mom?” Jess spoke softly, touching her mother’s shoulder once more. “You okay?”

Lillian took a shaky breath. “I want to thank you, Jessamyn, for making possible—” She broke off, shaking, and took a slow breath in.

Jess watched as her mother, lips pinched tight, drew herself upright, squared her shoulders, and murmured, “Please pardon me.”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

Lillian shook her head ever so slightly as if in silent dissent. “You made it possible for your brother to realize his full potential. Thank you, Jessamyn.”

Jess sat in awkward silence.
You’re welcome,
felt like an inadequate response. She struggled to find something better, but words felt slippery, elusive. “He would have done the same for me,” she said at last.

Her mother rose to leave, then turned to give Jessamyn half a hug. Without speaking, she turned again and retreated to her room.

“It’s late, Jessie,” said her father. “Get some sleep.”

Her father’s voice, low and soft, recalled to her the thousand times he’d spoken just those words. The thousand times she’d complained at the unfairness of having a bedtime earlier than that of her brother. She did not complain this time. She rose and when she looked back to say goodnight before turning down the hall, she saw her mother within her room sink quietly to the floor, kneeling, her arms wrapped about her mid-section, her mouth opening to form a low moan as her husband moved to join her.

Jess made her way to her brother’s room, where she lay upon her sleep mat and watched Phobos and Deimos travel their bright paths.

14

A TINY O

Lucca Brezhnaya was in a foul temper. Not even reports of the Viceroy’s waning popularity could put her in a better frame of mind. She’d had to discover
on a broadcast feed
the news that a building in the capitol—a government building—had been fired upon and destroyed. Spending the morning reassuring the public that it was a scheduled military exercise upon a defunct facility had not put her in a better mood.

Worst of all, the troops who had
dared
destroy a building within the pale of the capitol city had
failed
to bring to heel the brigands who’d broken into the facility. The Chancellor paced, a fearsome creature, within the confines of her penthouse office.

What was so special about this facility that it merited being broken into not once, but
twice
? She’d ordered reports on the earlier break-in, as well as information to ascertain which satellites had fallen within the purview of the antiquated facility. Impatiently, she awaited the delivery of this information.

A gentle
ping
informed her at least one of the reports was available. Crossing to her desk, she glanced over two new pieces of intelligence. One, she dismissed as irrelevant. The other informed her that the building governed satellites she’d not thought of in over a century.

Her mouth formed a tiny
O
.

It was the facility that governed the Mars Containment Program satellites.

Lucca sank into the chair behind her desk.

Who wanted to know more about Mars? And for what purpose? And what had they failed to achieve upon their first visit? Whatever it was, had they accomplished it this time? She swore aloud, calling down a detailed string of odd and unpleasant fates upon the secures who had failed her.

Shouting for her trembling secretary, Lucca requested the names and dispositions of the criminals apprehended at the previous break-in as well as a complete report of the follow-up to that event.

What she learned was not entirely unsatisfactory. Although the male felon had died during re-bodying at New Kelen, two females lived. One of them was situated in Dunakeszi, at a hospital for brain injury patients.

“Dunakeszi,” she murmured. A quick search confirmed the hospital was close by. She called for her secretary again. “I want this patient brought in for immediate interrogation.” She smiled. Lucca Brezhnaya found interrogation to be one of the more satisfying duties associated with her position.

She glanced down at the record for the other captured female. This one, she saw, had been sent to New Timbuktu for re-education without being re-bodied. Interestingly, there was a scientist from the satellite facility who’d been sent to New Timbuktu following the break-in as well. The scientist had been blamed for leaking information that led to compromised security in the building. Lucca scowled. The lack of compelling evidence against the scientist meant she probably knew nothing. The Chancellor was all too aware of how certain of her underlings were eager to demonstrate a
commitment
to catching perpetrators of crimes, which resulted in bringing to justice those who were innocent. And, more to the point, ignorant.

Lucca heard a quiet throat-clearing and looked up. She despised quiet throat-clearers. “Yes?” she barked.

“It’s the prisoner at Dunakeszi,” replied the secretary. “It would appear the prisoner has been in a coma for several weeks due to brain injury.”

Lucca scowled. “She’s insensate? Is that what you’re telling me?”

The secretary nodded. “What shall I tell the doctor? Do you still wish to have the prisoner brought here?”

“Fool!” said Lucca. “What am I going to do with an inciter in a coma?”

The secretary blanched. “What shall I tell the doctor?”

“Bah,” muttered the Chancellor. “Tell him to continue doing … whatever it is one does in such cases. Do not bother me with such petty concerns. Do I make myself understood?”

“Yes, Madam Chancellor,” replied the secretary. “Of course, Madam Chancellor.”

“Idiots,” sighed Lucca as the anxious subordinate scuttled out of her sight. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

At least there was a scientist and one of the perpetrators remaining. Lucca could do with a nice, drawn-out interrogation today. She put through the order to Red Squadron herself:
Bring me Dr. Kazuko Zaifa and the inciter known as “Harpreet.”

15

INCALCULABLE DEBT

Exactly twelve weeks after she had addressed the citizens of Mars Colonial following the disastrous Rations Storage fire, the Secretary General stood once more upon a dais in the Crystal Pavilion overlooking thousands.

A hush had settled upon the crowd as soon as Mei Lo approached the podium. Looking about, Jessamyn saw repeated upon foreheads the three blue markings she’d seen when she’d arrived home. Crusty had explained them to her: the blue tear shapes were a gesture of mourning for the three lost raiders.

“Tears’re mighty precious on our world,” Crusty had remarked in approval.

Jessamyn noticed Mei Lo’s forehead remained clear of the marks of mourning. Jess hoped this was a sign that the Secretary did not regard the Mars Raiders as gone beyond recall. Any doubts as to the strength of the Secretary’s hopes were cleared away during her remarks at the podium.

“Citizens of Mars Colonial, my friends and my inspiration, I come before you today not to bury our brave lost Mars Raiders. Rather, I stand here today in order to speak in their praise, to share with you today a few of my own memories and observations of these three brave souls.