“I guess that will be my legacy,” Kazuko said quietly. She turned to Pavel. “Doctor, I require no treatment for my arrhythmia. Red Squadron are on their way, and I don’t have to tell you what that means for someone in my position.”
“We have something better to offer you,” said Wallace. “I wonder if you would consider accepting employment from my partners at MCC. They share my interest in non-chronological elisions and their applications.”
Kazuko looked confused. “I’m supposed to be here for my heart.”
“Lass,” interrupted Brian Wallace, “It comes down to this: would ye prefer to go off with Red Squadron or with us?”
“I don’t understand,” said Kazuko. “You’re offering me a choice?”
“Aye,” replied Brian Wallace. “And that’s more than ye’ll get from anyone in red armor.”
“We propose absconding with you,” said Ethan, his hand flying across his wafer. “Would that be an acceptable alternative to interrogation and probable un-bodying?”
“You’re serious?” Kazuko stared at each of the three men in turn. “That would be more than acceptable.”
“I am ready when you are,” Ethan said to Pavel. “Everyone will please activate their earpieces now.”
The three men snapped their heads once to the right, causing Kazuko Zaifa’s eyebrows to raise in bafflement.
“Wallace,” said Pavel, “You wait here until Ethan gets back aboard the ship. When Ethan gives you the signal, take Kazuko Zaifa to the ship.”
“M’self and the prisoner, we’re to simply waltz out the door?” asked Brian Wallace.
“I am endeavoring to turn that figure of speech into a possibility,” said Ethan, his hands skipping across the controls. “But I must return to the ship to disguise the origin of the rotating algorithmic—”
“Never mind, lad,” said Brian Wallace, cutting Ethan off. “What about Harpreet?”
“I’ll take care of her,” said Pavel. “You three, get ready to leave as soon as I get rid of the guard.”
With that, Pavel wrenched the door open, shouting, “Why wasn’t I notified of detainee Mombasu’s allergy to xenthophils?”
The guard at the door turned around, looking puzzled.
“She’s got a level six allergy to xenthophils!” Pavel shouted.
“Is that dangerous?” asked the guard.
“It’s life-threatening!” replied Pavel.
The guard blanched. “She’s being held for transfer to Budapest. I can’t have her dying on my watch.”
“Then you’d better get her back here, immediately,” said Pavel. “No. That could be too late. Take me to her.” Over his shoulder, he called. “I want the room cleared out and set up for a full blood transfer protocol.” He turned back to the guard. “Let’s go.”
As the two dashed along the hall, Pavel quizzed the guard. “You are set up for FBTPs here, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know, doctor,” replied the guard, his face still a pasty color. “Our facilities are minimal. What you saw in the exam room—that’s it.”
“That is your only medical facility? What century are you living in?” demanded Pavel. “Never mind. We can do the transfer on my ship.” Pavel tapped a wrist communicator that could be overheard safely by the guard. “Nurse Brian? Instruct Nurse Ethan to set up an FBTP aboard the ship at once.”
“Aye, doctor,” came the answering voice. “I’ve treated and released the heart patient.”
“Good,” said Pavel. “And I want a hoverstretcher in case the patient goes into xenthophilic shock.”
“Doctor,” said the guard, “A detainee transfer will require the warden’s permission. Even if it’s just to your ship.”
“I suggest you obtain such immediately,” said Pavel as the guard scanned the holding cell door open.
Pavel fumbled around in his pocket. “Five cc’s of retriverol should stabilize her,” he said, removing the casing from a med-patch.
Harpreet rose to greet the pair. “Doctor, how lovely—”
The guard interrupted, very distressed. “I’m sorry Harpreet. We didn’t know you were allergic to …” The guard turned to Pavel, unable to recall the name.
“Xenthophils,” interjected Pavel. “Pull her sleeve up for me,” he ordered the guard.
While the guard fussed with Harpreet’s clothing, Pavel stepped close to apply a med-patch to an exposed part of the guard’s neck. But before Pavel could act, a harsh voice shouted at him from outside the cell.
“Freeze! Hands up in the air!”
The three in the cell did as the shouting man ordered.
“Now turn around where I can see your faces,” he demanded.
Pavel and the guard turned slowly. All color drained from Pavel’s face when he saw the red armor worn by the newcomer.
The prison guard spoke quickly. “Officer, with all due respect, the detainee is facing a life-threatening allergic reaction. The doctor is only trying—”
“Silence,” barked the officer, eyes narrowing.
Pavel swelled with determination. “I’m a doctor,” he said. “The detainee requires immediate emergency intervention.” He waved the med-patch in the air.
“Guard,” said the officer, “Retrieve the packaging from that med-patch and hand it to me. Very slowly.”
Pavel felt his stomach wrench as the guard bent to pick up the wrapper. The med-patch was one used to knock patients out, not treat them for allergic reactions. Would Red Squadron personnel have received training in such matters?
From behind the officer’s clear face-shield, Pavel saw understanding and knew he was caught.
“You’re no doctor,” said the man in red to Pavel. He ordered the prison guard to take Pavel out of the cell. The officer followed the pair out, training his weapon upon Pavel.
Pavel made one last attempt. “The patient’s condition can only be stabilized if she is rendered unconscious, hence the med-patch.”
“I’m no fool, boy,” sneered the red-armored officer.
But as the officer stared Pavel down, recognition dawned upon his face. “Shizer!” he said, his eyes wide. “I’ve just found the Chancellor’s missing nephew.”
The secure turned to the prison guard. “Cuff this man,” he said, indicating Pavel. The officer in red then relayed the information of Pavel Brezhnaya-Bouchard’s apprehension on a comm line, nodding when instructions came back.
As the cuffs bit into his wrists, Pavel murmured a code phrase. “Without me,” he said. It was the instruction to Ethan, listening via the earpiece, to continue without him.
“What’s that?” demanded the Red Squadron officer.
“Without me …” Pavel hesitated, looking for something to make the phrase seem unimportant. “Without me, detainee Mombasu—”
But he was interrupted by the noise of Harpreet’s cell door, sliding suddenly shut. All three turned to look at the closed door.
“Get the detainee out of that cell,” ordered the officer in red. “Now!”
The guard tried, but he seemed to be having trouble scanning in. The door would not open. Ethan chose this moment to speak remotely in Pavel’s earpiece.
“Do you see a door at the opposite end of the building?” asked Ethan’s remote voice. “If you can see it, please focus your gaze in that direction, toward the surveillance camera.”
Pavel did so.
“You said ‘without me’,” said Ethan’s voice. “Am I to understand that you wish for us to depart without you? Please raise your eyebrows if the answer is yes.”
Pavel raised both brows.
“Harpreet remains in the cell, does she not?” asked Ethan’s voice.
Pavel raised his eyebrows again.
“I am providing a distraction for the guard,” said Ethan’s voice. “Get the officer out of view of Harpreet’s cell and I may be able to save her.”
This time, Pavel nodded his acknowledgment. It was too late for him. But Harpreet deserved a chance.
21
<
br /> AIN’T NO SKILLED POLITICIAN
Jessamyn arrived at the Galleon and passed through the airlocks into the ship’s habitable section just as Crusty was preparing to leave. He wasn’t wearing his walk-out suit, which sent a shiver along Jessamyn’s spine. The ship was truly being prepared for tomorrow’s launch. She unclasped her helmet, breathing the Galleon’s filtered air. Her nose wrinkled.
“Never smells too good when you start her back up after a rest,” Crusty remarked. “We’re still on the old air filter, too. Decided to just replace the darned thing.”
He seemed undisturbed by Jessamyn’s appearance in the middle of the night.
“New filter’ll be here in a few hours,” he said. “Figured I’d try for some sleep ‘til then. ‘Less you want company?”
Jess shook her head. “I came here to sleep in my quarters. My house is … impossible.”
“Going to get noisy,” said Crusty. “I ain’t sleepin’ in here. Cavanaugh’s got some folks coming by to fuel the ship, switch out the spacesuits in all the quarters for fresh ones, that sort of thing.”
Jess felt a flutter of alarm. “Won’t that be noticed?”
But Crusty shook his head. “Secretary gave everyone tomorrow off for the celebration, remember? Hangar’ll be empty ‘til it’s too late to matter. And I might’ve done something to the vid monitors just to make sure.” He grinned as he said this. “But you’re likely to get walked in on, if you try sleepin’ in your quarters.”
Jessamyn scowled, feeling very tired. She should have just stayed home.
“Hang on,” said Crusty. “You can bunk up in my tool locker.”
When Jess looked confused, Crusty added, “It’s cozy. Got a sleep mat, even. I slept in there plenty to give your brother a bit more room. Cavanaugh’s bunch won’t have any cause to go in there. Plus it locks.”
“That sounds perfect,” Jessamyn said, a profound yawn distorting her voice.
Crusty led her to the tiny room which did, indeed, appear perfect at the moment. Shutting herself inside, she set the latch and turned off the light. Within moments, she was fast asleep.
Only to be awakened again after two hours. This time, she knew exactly where she was, at least. What she didn’t know was why in Hades Cavanaugh’s crew had to pick the hall beside her to have their very heated argument.
She pulled a palm over one ear, burying the other in the crook of her elbow. But it was no good. The two—or three—were shouting at one another. Jess rose to give them a piece of her mind.
But then she stopped. Why were they discussing the Rations Storage fire?
She pressed an ear to the door and the conversation grew clearer.
“It opened the path for an unscheduled trip to Earth. Another fire could do the same,” said a woman’s voice.
Smith, thought Jess, shuddering at the thought of the woman she was supposed to share quarters with.
“No, you are not destroying the food supply again,” said a deep voice.
Cavanaugh, thought Jess.
“One fire looks like an accident. Two makes people start asking questions about arson. Questions that will lead straight to the Party’s doors. Our cause doesn’t need that. We’ve already got what we want. Eyes on the prize, Smith,” concluded Kipper’s brother.
“She was only suggesting—”
Cavanaugh swore, cutting Jones off. “It will not be repeated. Especially not when we’re this close to achieving everything the Party is working for.”
“Sir,” called a new voice. “That’s the last two loads. Will there be anything else?”
“No,” replied Cavanaugh.
“Did you bring the communications amplifier?” asked Jones.
“We didn’t know where to put it,” replied the voice Jess didn’t know.
“It needs to stay hidden,” said Smith. “I’m not keeping it in my quarters. The girl might ask questions.”
“Agreed,” said Cavanaugh.
“How about here?” asked Jones, slapping the door behind which Jess sheltered.
Jess clawed her way back from the door as someone rattled the handle.
“It’s locked,” said Jones.
“What do you think your thumb key is for?” said Smith, her voice exasperated. “Honestly.”
The door shook again and Jessamyn held her breath, praying the latch would hold.
“This room’s no good,” said Cavanaugh.
“It’s for equipment—” began Smith.
Cavanaugh interrupted. “It’s where that old fool mechanic stores things. I’ll lock it in my quarters.”
“I still say we arrange for a little accident to take the mechanic out of the picture,” said Smith. “He’ll side with the girl if it comes down to a … conflict.”
“No,” Cavanaugh said sharply. “We’ve got a long and dangerous journey. Who’s going to fix things that break down? You?”
Smith didn’t make any sort of response that Jess could hear, but Cavanaugh seemed satisfied he’d made his point.
“We’ve got a full day ahead of us,” Cavanaugh said. “Let’s go.”
Jessamyn’s heart hammered in the dark room and she felt a rage such as had not filled her since she’d stabbed Lucca Brezhnaya.
Those … creatures set fire to Mars’s food supply, she raged silently. She could not fathom the depravity. Not to mention one of them wanted to kill Crusty. The ungrateful wretches!
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice gritty with determination. All that mattered was that she report this to Mei Lo at once. She crept from her hiding place. How did a person reach the Secretary General at this hour? Well, Jess knew where Mei Lo lived. She was halfway into her walk-out suit when she heard someone thundering up from below decks.
“Hades and Aphrodite,” she swore. She had nowhere to hide. With her walk-out suit, she was too bulky to fit back into the tools storage room. Then she sighed with relief—it was only Crusty.
“Mornin’ kid. You’re up ear—”
Jess cut him off. “We’ve got trouble. Big trouble.”
Hurriedly, she repeated the overheard conversation to her friend, who seemed remarkably unmoved by the threat against his life.
“Bells of Hades,” he whispered. “Didn’t see that comin’. Words fail me, Jess.”
“They’re ungrateful wretches,” Jess fumed, sealing the front of her suit.
“Guess we better get a move-on,” said Crusty, shaking his head.
“I’m taking a planet hopper straight to Mei Lo’s residence.”
“What?” asked Crusty.
“Immediately,” said Jessamyn. “Before the celebration.”
Crusty frowned. “Wait a minute. I’m talkin’ about launchin’ the ship. Are you sayin’ you want to go see the Secretary instead?”
Jess stared at her friend. “We can’t launch now. We’ve got information that Mei Lo needs in order to fight the pro-trade faction.”
Crusty stared at her like she was speaking Marsperanto.
“Cavanaugh and the others were going with the blessing of the pro-trade party,” said Jess. “Everyone will hate them once they hear the truth about the party. This is just what Mei Lo needs!”
“Jess, you listen to me. You go blazin’ over to Mei Lo’s with this information and you’ll be in for all kinds of questions. People are going to ask how it is you heard these conversations. How it is a group of arsonists planned to steal Mars’s only spaceship. And who they found to pilot. Don’t think for a minute Cavanaugh won’t rat you out.”
Something in the pit of Jess’s stomach rolled over uncomfortably.
“Oh,” said Jess. It was awful. Crusty was right. “What are we going to do?” she murmured, half to herself, half to Crusty.
“Kid, the way I see it, we got two options. We can launch this morning, before the rest of the crew shows up, or we can give up ‘til next annum and head over to Mei Lo’s and tell her everything.”
Jess felt like she was going to be sick.
; “But you better decide quick,” said Crusty. “’Cause Cavanaugh and his buddies were planning to load a few more things on the ship during the celebration this morning. The ship’s packed full up on fuel, but you need a morning launch from this position. Ship can’t carry enough fuel for launchin’ at the wrong time of day.”
Jessamyn nodded. Morning was their launch window. If they took off any other time, it would send the ship in the wrong direction. They couldn’t afford the fuel for large course corrections from space, and besides, they’d never get up to speed without slinging off using the planet’s spin—not when Earth and Mars were separating by nearly four million kilometers a day.
“I don’t like to say it, but it’s either go now or wait another annum,” said Crusty.
“If I stay,” said Jessamyn, “I won’t get a second chance. Not once Cavanaugh opens his mouth.”
She would never leave Mars if she chose to stay right now. Who would trust a spacecraft thief? She’d be stuck. She would never see Pavel again. A weight like a hundred kilos of Mars rock seemed to crush the air from her lungs. She shook the feeling away and took a deep breath.
“If we stay, we could use what we know to sway public opinion,” she said. “We reveal what they did and what else they were willing to do, and Mars Colonial will turn on them. The pro-trade party goes down in flames of infamy. A skilled politician could use something like this to sway an entire population.”
“That’s just it, kid, I ain’t no skilled politician. And with all due respect, Jess, you’re not going to be doin’ a whole lot of persuading from inside a jail cell.”
Jessamyn’s heart sank as she felt the truth of his words.
“True enough,” said Jess. “But the Secretary still needs to know.”
“That’s a call you can place once we’re airborne,” replied Crusty.
Crusty was right again. They couldn’t stay. She felt her resolve forming, originating in the cool space she accessed when she flew. To hand Mei Lo this information while stealing away with Mars’s last ship was crazy. Crazy like taking a planet-hopper into the heart of a storm. But it would accomplish every one of her goals. Mei Lo. Terran-fever. Terran aggression. Satellites. Ethan. Pavel.
Defying Mars (Saving Mars Series-2) Page 13
