Wu waited patiently for her to finish speaking to the assembly outside when a sudden thought crossed his mind. It was the sort of thought he’d learned to pay attention to in his long years of investigation. It was the sort of thought that made him so very valuable to the Chancellor.
He crossed to the window from which Cameron had addressed the pipers.
“One moment, if you please,” Wu called to the musicians.
~ ~ ~
Cameron wasn’t comfortable with her situation. Not comfortable at all. She’d been forced to stand to one side while others—albeit trusted others—made plans in which she was not a participant. Well, Zussman was quick–witted, she knew that much, and Jamie she’d trust with her own life any hour of the day.
And now that fool representative of the Chancellor’s was demanding she quiet her pipers. In me own home, she fumed to herself. Well, she would make certain her beloved pipers knew she wasn’t the one asking them to be quiet.
The head of Clan Wallace rose from the table to reassure her musicians. But when she reached the deep–set window, what she saw in the courtyard might have made a less–self–contained woman startle visibly. Instead of her contingency of nine pipers and one drummer, she saw in the forecourt some fifteen pipers and two drummers.
The math calculated itself in her mind seemingly without any effort on her part. Zussman had disguised more than his own face today. She longed to give the staid gentleman a great bear–hug. But that would have to wait. She cleared her throat and spoke to her musicians.
“Well done, me dears. We’ll have reels this evening for supper, seeing as certain…eventualities prevent me from properly enjoying your songs at present.”
Cameron prepared to return to her meal when Vladim Wu cleared his throat at her side. He addressed her musicians and then his officers, uttering a few simple words calculated to freeze the Scottish blood flowing in Cameron’s veins.
“Scan their identification chips,” Wu said, indicating her musicians.
15
Squyres Station, Mars
When Cavanaugh Kipling first discovered the document detailing ancient protocols for pre–war communications between the governments of Mars and Earth, he never questioned whether or not he ought to make use of his find. Clearly he’d been meant to find it. And if he’d been meant to find it, clearly he was meant to use it to initiate contact with the Terran government.
There were fewer questions when you accepted that you had been chosen for a great destiny.
He spent several days, however, agonizing over the content of the message he proposed sending to the Terran Powers–That–Be. How much information should he divulge? How many questions ought he to pose? And, most trying of all, how should he refer to himself?
If he came to power in this upcoming election, he would have a proper title, of course. But he was sending the message now instead of after the election as a way to hedge his bets. That way, even if (Ares forbid!) he lost, he would to be in a position to move forward with trade.
In the end, he settled for calling himself the “Representative of a Significant Segment of Marsians who shared an interest in re–opening trade channels with Earth.” He spoke of hopes and the dawning of new eras and the forging of renewed friendships. He spoke of tellurium and opportunity. He did not discuss Mars’s deplorable living conditions or the fact that many Marsians would be opposed to what he proposed. He encrypted the message according to the century–old protocols he had found, sent it, and sat at his desk for twenty–six minutes awaiting a response.
When none came immediately, he was disappointed.
16
Madeira, Earth
Jessamyn added “bagpipe attire” to her list of Supremely Uncomfortable Apparel. It was worse than a too–small walk–out suit, and twice as scratchy. Her legs itched and protested wherever the kilt socks pulled as she marched along the castle corridor. In spite of the discomfort, Jess retained her sense of direction in the underground hallways, and she knew they would shortly file into the castle’s courtyard. The plan was for the Pipe Major to play solos so as not to draw attention to those such as herself who couldn’t play anything.
It was a crazed way to survive a shakedown by one of Lucca’s deadliest underlings, thought Jessamyn. Her beard tickled where bits of it brushed her left ear. Even thinking about her moustache, wiggling with each exhale, made her want to pull it loose, so she tried not to think about it at all.
And then, just when she thought she couldn’t bear her annoying disguise one minute longer, the leading piper of the group began a melancholy strain. The tune seemed to Jessamyn to speak of first love and heartbreak, of causes worth dying for and desperate last stands. Her eyes welled with tears and she forgot, for a few minutes, her own circumstances.
The first melody finished and another foot–tapping piece began, bringing Jess back to the reality that she was a wanted criminal. But right when the true drummer joined in the piece, they were interrupted by Cameron Wallace and instructed to cease and desist.
Jess felt her heart beginning to pound. What was wrong? The true bagpipers around Jess took it all as a matter of course, none looking upset at having been summarily cut off mid–song. Jess kept her own features stiffly neutral, awaiting further orders.
She exchanged glances with Pavel, across the circle from where she stood. He looked odd, sporting a bushy blond beard and a matching thatch of blond hair. She wouldn’t have recognized him, honestly.
Zussman knows his disguises.
But right when the Pipe Major prepared to guide them back inside the castle, there came a second command from the Great Hall above.
“Halt!” It was one of Wu’s soldiers. “You are to remain where you are for scans.”
The adhesive holding Jessamyn’s assorted facial hair seemed suddenly to pinch and bite. She felt a bead of sweat tickling its way down the back of her neck and her heart pounded in deadly earnest. Cameron had, of course, provided them with falsified scan–chips. But would they fool Wu? Zussman had indicated that Red Squadron Forces were able to detect small anomalies in chip registration which ordinary security officers wouldn’t catch.
Just then, Zussman himself appeared in the shelter of one of the entrance arches leading to the courtyard. Bent as with age, sporting a ridiculous embroidered cap, he looked like a mad wizard as he gazed over the group of pipers and fugitives. Two guards emerged into the forecourt, and Jess saw Zussman hold aloft a silver object, narrow like a stylus. It flashed briefly, catching the sunlight. He returned it to his vest pocket and retreated into the shadowed archway once more.
What on Ares?
From across the circle, Pavel shrugged ever so slightly. It was clear he’d had his eye on Zussman as well.
Jess glanced back to the arch where the butler had sheltered, but he was gone.
Scanning upheld wrists, the guards made their way around the circle until they reached Jessamyn, the first of the fugitives. She took a shallow breath and held out her left wrist, waiting for an inevitable, “Step to one side,” from the guard who took her offered arm.
Jess felt her eyebrows catch as she tried to pull them together in a fierce glare. She cursed the whiskery brows, vowing to never again don a disguise involving facial hair. The guard released her wrist and passed on to Harpreet at her side. Harpreet was also allowed to remain without comment from the secure.
The guards continued around the circle.
Had their chips passed muster?
~ ~ ~
Cameron Wallace wished she’d thought to have an artificial heart installed. Her own was racing pell–mell as Wu’s guards scanned the company of pipers and non–pipers outside the Great Hall.
She was helpless. Zussman had disappeared. She knew enough of his marksmanship to suspect he was planning to take out Wu’s guards below, giving the fugitives a head start. Cameron hated the waiting. She had not arrived at her current role of leadership by standing at the sidelines while others did what needed doing.
But with Wu’s gaze fixed on her, she had no choice but to stand by while others did…whatever they were going to do.
From the courtyard, she heard an officer calling to Wu.
“Everything seems to be in order, sir.”
As Wu relayed the news to Cameron, she felt relief, but she managed to growl at him anyway.
“Of course everything is in order,” she snapped. “What sort of sloppy backwater operation do ye think I run?”
Before he had a chance to reply, however, a great thunderous clap shivered the chandeliers in the Great Hall. Cameron looked up in alarm. Earthquakes were rare, but the tsunamis that followed could devastate the islands. She gestured for Jamie, who had appeared across the room.
~ ~ ~
Major Vladim Wu glanced at the gently swaying fixtures suspended in the ridiculous castle hall.
“Another island custom?” he asked, turning to Cameron. “The midday firing of antiquated cannons, one presumes?”
But the large woman shook her head, looking as puzzled by the sound as was Vladim himself.
The sergeant–at–arms strode rapidly across the Great Hall, examining her pocket–wafer as she came, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what the wafer told her.
“Well, lass?” demanded Cameron.
Jamie flashed a suspicious glance at Wu before leaning in to speak to Lady Wallace. “It’s the prisoners, my lady,” Jamie whispered.
Thanks to enhanced hearing, Wu caught with ease everything the threebody reported to her superior.
“They’ve blown the prison—the whole isle—to bits!” she was saying.
Cameron Wallace shouted at Wu as she dashed back to the large windows to peer outside. “Is this yer doing? I’ll have me reward regardless, mind. I’ll take it to the highest court. I found the prisoners. I captured them. If ye blew them to bits, that changes nothing.”
Wu joined Cameron, climbing inside one of the largest windows, deeply recessed. What he saw caused him to blink and raise his brows in surprise. A tall column of black smoke rose from the sea, many kilometers distant.
Wu sent a comm to the officers he’d dispatched to visit the island. Had Wallace fired upon them? They responded instantly: they were not the target of the explosion.
“I’ll ask ye once more, Major Wu, is that yer doing?” demanded the Madeiran leader, pointing to the black funnel.
“Not at all,” murmured Wu. “I take it the prisoners were housed on a vessel or isle out to sea?”
Cameron continued to bluster and shout about imprisoned inciters and underhanded tactics.
Wu made his decision. The castle held nothing but noise, confusion, and an overbearing woman of Scottish descent. He was done here.
“Call my craft,” he said to the guard at his side.
“At once, sir,” came the response.
Turning to Cameron, Wu curved his mouth into an almost–smile. “Thank you for your hospitality. It would seem I have another of your charming islands to investigate. I require you to remain behind and to keep your personnel from interfering with my investigation.”
In response to this mild request, there was rather more blustering on Cameron Wallace’s part than Wu felt necessary. But then, Vladim Wu never found any blustering to be needful.
“Good day,” he said to Cameron.
And it would be. He felt certain of it. Then he thought of one final detail.
Turning to the Red Squadron officers at his side, he gave another order. “You are to remain on this island with a full squadron and inspect any watercraft attempting to dock or depart the island.” He turned to Cameron, drawing up the corners of his mouth in an artificial smile. “Just in case,” he said. “As for your cousin and his associates, you ought to pray that we find physical evidence they were on the destroyed island. Your lands are hereby placed under temporary jurisdiction by the Terran government.”
With that, Wu was gone.
17
Budapest, Earth
Lucca Brezhnaya glanced through the reports on her desk wafer. The progress with the satellite project, Operation Burnout, was impressive. In only a few weeks, Lucca’s assembled team of wafer linguists had pushed through most of the challenges inherent in reconstructing the coding languages of the last century.
The Marsian Containment Satellites could not, she regretted, be used individually to fire upon multiple targets. The power would be too unfocused by the time it reached the Martian surface. But, by harnessing the laser power of several satellites, her military advisors concluded, much could be accomplished through a gradual raising of a structure’s temperature beyond its rated tolerance.
It meant choosing one’s initial targets carefully. It meant an attack that would span several days instead of several minutes’ duration. Fortunately, thought Lucca, she was a patient woman.
She instructed her hackers to create the destruction sequence now; she wanted it ready the moment full control of the wayward satellites was established.
It felt good, putting her problem–solving skills to use. She was playing to her strengths once more. She’d always been good at seeing solutions where no one else was able to. Although her interests had taken a political turn, Lucca remembered well the aptitude test which had long, long ago suggested she would do well in a career in engineering or hard sciences. She had a knack for stepping back and examining what was wrong, why it went wrong, and where it went wrong. Problem solving. Lucca still turned to number puzzles when she needed a bit of recreation.
The decision to fire upon and eliminate the life forms inhabiting the red planet had not been an easy one for her to make. Life was valuable, after all. But in the end, it was not as valuable as other things. Things such as a secure future for the inhabitants of the third planet from the sun.
No, Lucca felt certain she was making the correct choice. She’d analyzed the problem and determined that Terrans did, indeed, require the wealth of tellurium and other rare earth elements abundant on Mars. But Terrans didn’t need the headache of dealing with those who might stand in the way of the acquisition of these materials. A thriving colony outside her jurisdiction would be destabilizing. Just look at the headaches independent Madeira had created for her. No, there would be no Mars colonists apart from those she sent herself.
By eliminating the variables of interplanetary negotiations (interminable) and loyalties to another world (intolerable), Lucca felt certain she was solving her problem in the most elegant way possible. And mathematics was all about elegance, was it not?
Lucca turned back to the reports from the satellite experts.
There were certain anomalies to be overcome…Progress was slower than they would have preferred…Et cetera, et cetera. A small laugh escaped her. When was progress ever anything but “slower than preferred”? One of the programmers went so far as to suggest the satellites demonstrated occasional spurts of personality, refusing to do as they were ordered for no ascertainable reason.
Here, Lucca humphed in derision. Had she been the linguistics engineer on duty, she would have found the reason. People were so lazy. She made a note to have the whining engineer removed from the project. No ascertainable reason. Reasons were always ascertainable. Someone wasn’t trying hard enough or long enough or creatively enough.
There were times Lucca regretted she could not solve her problems by cloning multiple Luccas to do her bidding. But she knew herself well enough to guess how that would end. One or another of her “selves” would decide to eliminate the competition and take over control. No, she was best using the regrettably fallible resources at her disposal.
She composed a hasty message for the Operation Burnout personnel, demanding a demonstration of their ability to manipulate the satellites in one week’s time. That ought to provide any whiners with sufficient motivation to move from complaining to problem–solving. She tapped her nails on her desk in rapid succession and added an addendum: there would be a generous reward for anyone who removed the remaining issues preventing
their complete control of the satellites.
Lucca smiled, pleased with her benevolence. In her own mind, the implementation of such small thoughtfulnesses more than offset any imbalance created by her contemplated destruction of all life on Mars. Karmic equilibrium was restored.
The Chancellor brought up a holographic projection of Mars. The images of Mars made available to the general population on Earth were inaccurate, naturally: no cities, no settlements, no signs of anything but old abandoned buildings and wrecked machinery.
Lucca’s holographic version of Mars was more accurate, however, showing formerly known population centers and offering the Terran military’s best guesses as to what sorts of things were housed in the odd round structures preferred by Martians. Soon, however, the image most Terrans were familiar with would be the true image. There would be no more life on Mars.
Lucca shook her head. Why hadn’t she taken this step decades ago?
18
Madeira, Earth
“It’s goodbye, then,” said Cameron as she joined the kilted and mustachioed fugitives in the tunnels below the castle. Her face crumpled a bit and Jessamyn thought she might cry. Jess crossed to give her a large hug. “Ye must take the piping kits to remember me by,” Cameron said.
Jess gave a weak smile at the kindly intended offer.
“If I might beg to differ, madam,” Zussman said. “The appearance of the Wallace tartan upon persons fleeing in a fishing vessel?”
“Oh, true, true,” said Cameron.
“We’ll never forget you, even without the lovely costumes,” Harpreet said, taking Cameron’s hands in her own. “Thank you, daughter.”
“If you’ll all please change out of the, er, incriminating tartans,” said Jamie to the group, indicating a fresh stack of clothes. “And hurry. Red Squadron Forces are still everywhere.”
After a hasty change, the group followed Jamie through an ordinary corridor that turned abruptly into a tunnel carved through dark volcanic rock.
Mars Burning (The Saving Mars Series-) Page 7
