“She expects others to bear the burden of those consequences,” said Ethan. “It is a common failing of the powerful.”
“Yeah,” said Pavel. “You totally get her.”
Brian Wallace recommended a remote location in Newfoundland where they were able to refuel with relatively few eyes upon them. Pavel suspected the facility was operating without proper government permitting in place. But that suited his new life as a fugitive.
They left after Wallace acquired a top-of-the-line hoverchair for Ethan. Pavel tried to repay Brian, but the Scot wouldn’t allow it.
“Got it for a song,” he said cheerfully. “Unreported manufacturing. Tax-free, ye know.”
Pavel nodded, reconsidering his assessment of the man—Wallace’s black market know-how would be invaluable. The hoverchair in question was powerful, he noted, removing the shielding from its compact engine. Pavel grinned at what he saw and began the task of making a few modifications to the chair to allow Ethan greater speed and maneuverability. Tinkering with the chair made Pavel think of the limitations of his aunt’s ship.
“You know, we should think about swapping this ship out for something faster,” said Pavel, musing aloud.
“Faster, lad?” asked Brian Wallace. “The ship’s untraceable. Who needs speed when you can’t be chased?”
Pavel frowned. He might prefer something faster, but he couldn’t see how to refute Wallace’s position.
Wallace stepped close to admire the improvements to Ethan’s new acquisition. “I really should look into one of these chairs for me own self,” he said, patting his large belly.
Ethan, who had remained silent until now, spoke. “You ought instead to decrease your caloric consumption, and then you would not find the need of such a conveyance.”
Wallace laughed. “Aye, lad, aye.”
With Wallace’s assistance, Pavel helped Ethan into the hoverchair, explaining its responsive design. Ethan was soon comfortably settled.
“We should see about re-growing those limbs,” said Wallace, indicating Ethan’s leg stumps.
“We can’t,” said Pavel, his voice flat. “I reported the death of his consciousness at New Kelen Hospital. We don’t want anyone questioning that report when they start scraping cells and realize who he is. Word would get back to my aunt.”
“I am puzzled,” said Ethan, “as to the nature of your relationship with your aunt.”
Pavel laughed dryly. “There’s no love lost between us. Not anymore. Especially since I colluded with an enemy before her eyes.”
“Did ye now?” asked Wallace. “From my recollection, ye stood hostage whilst a crazed young inciter stabbed and drugged Lucca Brezhnaya.”
“I lied to her guards,” said Pavel.
“The individuals in question are deceased,” said Ethan.
“What?” asked Pavel. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve obtained information on many subjects pertaining to the Chancellor,” said Ethan. “It has not been difficult, given that this ship is registered to her. She reports the guards as having been murdered by the inciter known by only by the name ‘Jessamyn.’”
“We know that’s not true,” said Wallace.
Pavel ran a hand over his face. Those guards were dead because of him. “It’s not hard to guess how they really met their end,” he said. “In any case, there’s no question of my returning to Lucca. That life is over for me.”
“I understand,” said Ethan.
“I hadn’t thought about this ship having my aunt’s security clearance,” said Pavel. “Although, in a day or less Security will remind her that whoever stole her ship has access to her data.”
“You can bet on that,” said Wallace.
“It is not my intentions to place bets,” replied Ethan. “However, I have been cross-loading information to my chair’s computer which, fortunately, is quite robust.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Pavel, smiling at the holoscreen display on Ethan’s chair. “I’ve read about that Z-board. It’s powerful. It’s meant to be an amazing entertainment center.”
“As my requirements for entertainment are modest,” said Ethan, “I have completed modifications to the Z-board, freeing up a great deal of space, and I am in the process of retrieving as much as I can from the ship’s computer.”
“Good,” said Wallace, nodding.
“I have, in addition,” continued Ethan, “discovered Captain Kipling’s whereabouts. She currently resides in the intensive care portion of the hospital from which you rescued me, Pavel.”
Pavel looked at the data and frowned. “Brain injury,” he said. “Those aren’t easy to work with.” He ran a finger along a line of diagnostic code. “Still in her firstbody. That means she’s either in a coma or in significant and irreducible pain.” He placed a hand upon Ethan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man.”
“It is most unfortunate,” said Ethan. “However, I am relieved to know she survives. Harpreet, I have located as well.”
Wallace stepped over to peer at Ethan’s screen. “Well, my friend, so ye have. And how would ye like to rescue our good friend Harpreet Mombasu from the New Timbuktu Gold Processing and Re-educational Center for the Retirement of Criminals?”
“I should like that very much,” said Ethan.
Wallace grinned from ear to ear. “I’ve got some connections that might prove useful.”
“Regrettably,” said Ethan, “It is not a matter of what I would like.”
Wallace looked puzzled. “Ye’d like something else, then, lad?”
Ethan hesitated a fraction of a second before answering. “I should like to visit a zoological facility and see elephants and tigers,” he replied. “I should also like to see Terran snow.”
Pavel shook his head, confused. “Are you saying you want to do those things instead of rescuing your crewmate?”
“I am not,” replied Ethan. “Brian Wallace asked what I would like to do. I answered.”
“Aye, lad,” said Wallace. “Ye’re quite literal, are ye not? Allow me to rephrase. What is it that ye feel ye must do, as opposed to the things ye’d like to do, exactly?”
“I believe the time has arrived for me to discuss the nature of the mission I failed to complete,” replied Ethan.
Pavel felt his heart beating faster. A week ago a change from dutiful nephew to fugitive would have sounded ludicrous to him. But now, how eagerly he yearned to pass from merely a fugitive to someone in active defiance of the No Contact Accords and of his aunt.
“What’s your mission?” asked Pavel.
“I must transfer control of the satellites orbiting Mars from the Terran government to Mars Colonial Command,” replied Ethan.
Pavel’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, right?”
4
GENERALLY A MECHANIC
Mei Lo’s answer to Jessamyn’s impassioned plea arrived three days later. Crusty was the one to notice it first. When Jess arrived for morning rations, he gave her the news.
Her heart seemed to skip beats. “What did she say?” asked Jessamyn.
“Weren’t addressed to me,” said Crusty. “Figured you should be the one to read it.”
Jess dashed to the ship’s helm and sat in her brother’s seat, searching for the communiqué. Crusty followed her at a slower pace.
The news was not good.
“Well?” asked Crusty, his gravelly voice laced with what might have been hope.
“She said, ‘No,’” Jess replied. She felt suddenly cold, as though an icy breath had passed through the bridge. How could the Secretary have said no? Jessamyn’s argument had been logical, impassioned, and complete. She shook her head in disbelief. No? It wasn’t possible.
Crusty grunted. “There’s no and there’s no,” he said. “Which flavor of negatory would you call this one?”
Jessamyn couldn’t answer. She rose, gestured to the view screen and murmured, “Read it for yourself,” before excusing herself from the bridge.
Jessamyn experien
ced a sudden yearning for the quarters that had belonged to her brother—the place where he had suffered his great anguish.
They weren’t going to let her rescue him.
She slammed the flat of her palm against the hatch button and entered the quiet room. Her body assumed the compact position in which she’d found Ethan after his days locked in the room alone. Seat on the ground, knees pulled up close to her body, arms wrapped tightly around her shins, hand grasping opposite wrist. She didn’t hum aloud. She didn’t need to. Her entire being throbbed with the moaning sound she’d heard her brother make in this place.
Mei Lo said no.
Jessamyn replayed MCC’s reasons in her mind: insufficient fuel load capacity, insufficient time for sanitization and prep, insufficient time for assembly of qualified crew. And worst of all: insufficient likelihood of successful outcome of rescue of stranded crew.
Jess sat upon the floor of her brother’s former quarters, trying to find in her curled position the comfort her brother derived from it. But she was not her brother. Jessamyn was made for action and not stillness. She rose and flew at the wall, fists outstretched. She pounded against the unresponsive surface, hurling accusations of MCC’s cowardice and ingratitude at the unfeeling barrier.
Tears came at last, angry and hot, and Jessamyn didn’t try to stop them this time. After her tears, exhausted and defeated, she sat at the small captain’s desk and eased her feelings by composing a letter to Pavel.
Dear Pavel,
You know the feeling you get when you enter an airlock only to find yourself stuck inside because someone forgot to scrub the solars and now there’s not enough power to open either door and you’re just stuck until someone comes to find you or a storm blows the dust off the solars long enough for them to reset the doors? That’s how I feel today. Stuck between airlock doors. With a raging dust storm on its way and no hope of getting out for the foreseeable future.
Actually, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about. Why would you? I don’t think I saw a single airlock when I was on Earth. How can I describe how I am feeling right now? I feel so trapped. Do you understand trapped? Maybe people don’t ever feel that way on Earth. It happens pretty often on my world, though, I can tell you.
I never thought I’d feel trapped out in space. I mean, I’ve got the entire universe on all sides of me for as far as anyone can see and then a lot farther. I’ve always felt free when I fly. But not today.
Oh, Pavel. What am I going to do?
Mei Lo says she cannot support a return mission.
I want to rescue my brother. I want things to be normal again. Is that so much to ask? I never thought the day would come when I wouldn’t trust Mei Lo’s judgment. But she is wrong about this. So very wrong.
I’m sorry for ranting. I think, though, that if anyone can understand how I am feeling, it would be you.
What am I going to do?
Your friend,
Jessamyn Jaarda
The following three rations, Crusty did no more than nod to Jessamyn as he chewed his way through the pungent nutrition bars. On the fourth day, Jess raised her eyes to consider the quiet man before her.
“Crusty?”
He met her eyes with his.
“What am I going to do?”
“Same as you always have, kid. Go with your gut.”
Jessamyn swallowed against the lump swelling her throat. “My gut’s telling me to steal the ship as soon as we touch down on Mars.”
Crusty chuckled. “Well, maybe you oughtn’t to go with that particular notion.”
“Is the Secretary General right?” asked Jess.
“Depends what you’re referring to, don’t it?”
“I mean, about the fuel payload. I calculated the ship could make it, given a turnaround of seven days or less. After that … ”
Crusty shrugged. “The ship maybe could do it. I came up with five days or less when I looked at the numbers. But Mei Lo’s right to mention the air filter. Without a proper scrub, they ain’t much use after a month in space. You don’t want to go out there for fifty, sixty days if your air’s gunked up to where you can’t breathe it.”
“That’s an engineering problem, isn’t it?” Jess looked hopefully at Crusty.
“Reckon so,” he agreed. “But them other problems ain’t gonna disappear with wishful thinking either. Finding a qualified crew ain’t no engineering issue. And she’s right about the risk, too, kid. There’s no guarantee that says you’ll come back successful.”
“Well, I can guarantee I’ll fail if they don’t even let me try,” Jessamyn said, scuffing her boot along the floor.
“Don’t get mad, kid. Get smart. There’s more’n one way to overhaul a leaky water reclamation unit.”
Crusty’s odd illustration made Jess grunt out a small laugh. She straightened up and stared at the mechanic. “But if I could find a crew, those other issues aren’t insurmountable, are they? I mean, not for you, surely?”
Crusty ran a hand along one side of his face. Scratched his chin. “Well, I reckon where there’s a mechanical problem, there’s generally a mechanic as can solve it.”
Jessamyn smiled. “I’m sure you could do it. I bet you two month’s water rations for that orchid.”
“Now you’re just plain teasing me, kid.”
Jess smiled. She knew his mind was already working on it.
5
LIKE A SPIDER
Lucca Brezhnaya fretted as her chauffeur flew her to the derelict satellite facility in Budapest. Ordinarily, examining such a building following a break-in was the sort of thing she left to others. But the incident had occurred only a day before she’d lost Pavel. Lucca was searching for any clues that might point to the identity and aims of those who had taken her nephew. She’d found nothing thus far.
It was possible—probable, she admitted—that the kidnapping stood as a lone event, unattached to other crimes. But she had no other leads. No ransom note, even. That was certain to follow, she thought grimly. Meanwhile, she dutifully inspected report after report of criminal activity, looking for a way to tie Pavel’s disappearance to something Red Squadron had discovered.
As her vehicle touched down, Lucca’s crimson-stained lip curled with distaste. The building wasn’t just old, it was ugly. And ill-secured. It had the abandoned appearance of a place left behind in the wake of technological improvements, which it was.
Before Lucca exited her ship, she placed a call to her head of security. “Any news of my nephew?”
“No, Madam Chancellor,” replied the officer.
She pressed manicured fingers to her eyes and sighed audibly. “I suggest you make finding Pavel a priority. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Madam Chancellor,” came the response.
She cut off the call and contemplated the building before her for a moment before disembarking. But even before she completed her careful tour, Lucca knew it had been a waste of her time to come here.
“Leave no stone unturned,” she said, sighing. In her way, she cared for the boy. Pavel reminded her of her father, long-dead. So earnest. So devoted to ideals that Lucca knew had no place in the modern world.
Well, those ideals had saved New Kelen Hospital, Lucca had to admit. Not that she cared about the lives saved, but she very greatly cared to keep inciter activity far from Budapest where it would reflect badly upon Lucca and her government. London and Paris were permissible targets—far enough away from the center of her power. She would never authorize an attack upon Budapest.
The Chancellor turned from the satellite facility. Another dead-end.
Which brought her back to a question irritating as a pair of poorly made shoes: who was this upstart terrorist who’d taken Pavel? And how long would it be before Lucca could crush her like a spider under her boot?
“I want increased security on this facility and every other ground operations facility that deals with satellites,” barked Lucca as she climbed aboard her ship. “See to it.”<
br />
“Yes, Madam Chancellor,” said the security officer who’d provided her brief tour. “Of course, Madam Chancellor.”
“The next time an inciter so much as sneezes beside a facility like this, I want full aerial intervention. Or heads will roll.”
The noise of her ship cut off the man’s frightened response.
6
A PLANETARY TREASURE
The first Marsian dwellings had been round. Not for reasons to do with fashions in architecture or the whimsy of the inhabitants. The round form was dictated, rather, by necessity. Unable in the early years to manufacture building materials upon the planet, the first colonists brought their houses with them in rockets that were, for considerations aerodynamic, universally round.
“Go round or go ground,” early settlers advised those who lamented the limitations of the cylindrical domiciles. Digging into the frozen surface of Mars was the other popular way to construct a dwelling. But many, even those with no previous history of claustrophobia, found the underground dwellings unpalatable. Once a burgeoning plastics market erupted on Mars, enterprising manufacturers of home furnishings designed objects that would fit in homes with curved walls. Thus, even after it was possible to construct homes with four square walls, Marsians stuck to the round shape of their first homes and the pie-slice-shaped couches, tables, and desks to fill them.
Round houses were just one of the many things Jess couldn’t wait to set eyes upon again. Over a month had passed since the Raiders had last seen home, with its scattering of circular dwellings. At last Mars began to grow visibly larger and brighter. From a small reddish smudge on the pilot’s view screen, the planet swelled to a faintly glowing globe of orange, and became at last the world-sized tan and golden planet Jessamyn yearned to see. Upon the thirty-ninth Marsian-length day since their departure from Mars, Crusty and Jessamyn donned spacesuits and clipped into harnesses for the touchdown.
Mars had never looked more beautiful to Jessamyn. Clouds dotted the thin layer of atmosphere that was growing with every passing annum. Jess saw nary a dust storm in the planet’s northern hemisphere—the one enjoying Marsian summer. Her heart swelled. Summer was her favorite season. She recalled her promise to try to see Mars with Pavel’s eyes.
Defying Mars (Saving Mars Series-2) Page 3
