The room exploded into an angry burst of sixty-three people speaking at once. This was going to take more than a simple, amplified request for silence. The Secretary squared her shoulders. This was what she’d been elected Secretary for.
17
OR SO I’VE HEARD
“Jess,” said Pavel, “I know you don’t like the idea, but I really think this could be huge. For Mars and for Earth. We do a little Q and A, you and me, and you get to talk about all the best parts of life on Mars. Seriously, I can’t imagine a single household that wouldn’t watch that on their feed.”
“A series might perhaps be better than a single broadcast,” suggested Mr. Zussman.
“Oh, totally!” Pavel grinned and stood. Gesturing to the blank wall, he indicated imaginary holoscreens, one after the other. “Part One: Welcome to Mars Colonial. Part Two: The Weird Facts of Life on Mars. Part Three: How Would You Fare in a Sandstorm? And so on.”
“Part Four: Jessamyn Steals the Star Shark and Returns to the Moon,” said Jess, crossing her arms.
“Come on, Jess, it would be amazing,” said Pavel.
“Such a series would be likely to attract a great deal of positive attention,” said Zussman.
Ethan agreed. “Jessamyn, Mars stands in grave need of positive attention. Should you decline to participate, the remaining option would for Pavel to interview me. And, as you are so fond of pointing out,” said her brother, “I am something of a freak.”
From the table where her head lay on her arms, Jess replied, “I hate you all.”
“It’ll be fun,” insisted Pavel.
“If, by ‘fun,’ you mean ‘it will make me want to poke my eyes out,’” replied Jess.
“I’m not buying it,” said Pavel. “You light up when you talk about Mars. Who do you think got me wanting to move there in the first place?”
Jess groaned, but she raised her head slightly off the table. Just enough to allow her eyes to move from face to face around the table. She was completely outnumbered. After a heavy sigh, she replied. “I guess Kip would’ve done it if she’d been asked.”
“She certainly would have,” said Ethan.
“Okay,” said Jess. “I’ll do it for her sake.”
“For Kipper’s sake.” Pavel smiled soberly. “This is going to be amazing.”
“It’s going to be ridiculous, is what it’s going to be,” said Jessamyn. “Not to mention, if Lucca wanted your head on a platter for the vids you made, she’ll want mine mounted to a pike and displayed on the city walls.”
~ ~ ~
Mr. Zussman insisted he be allowed to choose Jessamyn’s wardrobe for the initial recording of “A Hidden World: The Unexpected Miracle of Life on Mars.” When he suggested he might be able to do something with miss’s hair, however, Jessamyn glowered at him and pulled her fiery hair up into a messy bun.
The empty end of the barn which held the Star Shark became a studio of sorts, and Jessamyn, wearing a very snug emerald green top and black pilot trousers stuffed into tall brown boots, stood with her arms crossed before scaled miniature models of Earth and Mars.
Pavel winked at Jessamyn and then, turning to the camera, welcomed their viewers.
“Jessamyn, why don’t you start by giving us a little comparison of the two worlds,” said Pavel, indicating the models.
Jess ran her finger along the deep chasm of the Valles Marineris, avoiding eye contact with either Pavel or the camera. “Well, there are some things about Mars that would feel very familiar to a visitor from Earth,” she said, hesitantly. “We have canyons and mountains and flatlands. But you can see right away that Earth is much bigger than Mars. Over twice the size. So you’d feel really light if you were on Mars. Also, the relative density of the planets impacts weight as well—is this boring?”
Pavel grinned. “It’s okay. So, tell me what would happen if you went outside dressed just like that, and you were standing here.” Pavel touched the peak of Olympus Mons.
Jess guffawed. “If I were dressed like this?”
“Humor me,” replied Pavel.
“Well, my dead body would be easy to find, at least,” said Jess, indicating her bright shirt. “There’s not much of anything green on Mars.”
“Okay, so what would kill you, exactly, if you were dressed in those clothes and took a stroll?”
“Up on top of Olympus? Well, I guess lack of oxygen would get me first. But the air pressure up there is incompatible with human life, too. It’s just like on Earth, the higher you go, the thinner the atmosphere is. Dressed like this….” Jess paused and looked at her clothes. “Let’s just say that only a really stupid kid accepts a dare to take off their helmet so they can feel their saliva boil.”
“What?” asked Pavel. “Why would your saliva boil if you took off your helmet?”
Jess flushed. “If my mom ever hears this recording, I am in so much trouble. Right,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “So, if you take off your helmet pretty much anywhere on Mars, or for sure if you were standing on Olympus Mons, the water on your tongue would be exposed to low atmospheric pressure, and water evaporates or boils at a lower temperature when the pressure is low. Your saliva will boil off at body temperature because of the lower pressure.”
“Or so you’ve heard,” said Pavel, grinning.
Jess felt the blood rushing to her neck and face again. “So I’ve heard.”
“I thought Marsians were taking measures to raise the air pressure?”
“Sure,” replied Jess. “And down in the canyons, maybe, the pressure’s not so deadly. But there’s still too much carbon dioxide plus there’s the cold, most days.”
“So Mars has more than one way to take you out?”
“Temperatures are pretty extreme compared to here on Earth. So, yeah, even if the pressure were more compatible with human life on Olympus Mons, I would still freeze into a bright green popsicle,” here she paused to touch her shirt, “and die of the poisonous air. There’s oxygen on Mars, but not enough. Here on Earth, we get argon and nitrogen in the mix and way, way less carbon dioxide. I guess the toxic air would finish me off first, but the cold could do it on its own. So, yeah, in these clothes, I’d totally be dead.”
Pavel gestured to a screen behind them that showed something Jess recognized.
“Hey, that’s me in my first adult-sized walk-out suit,” she said, astonished. “Where’d you get that picture?”
Pavel dodged the question expertly, drawing Jessamyn out, asking her how long it took to suit up, how to use an airlock and survive to tell the tale, and so on.
When Pavel announced to the viewers, “That’s all we have time for today. We’ll be back tomorrow with a look at an average day in the life of a first-body on Mars.”
Jess looked surprised. “We’re done? Already?”
“Always leave them wanting more,” replied Pavel.
“Huh,” replied Jessamyn. “Oh, and, by the way, no one on Mars uses the term ‘first-body’ to mean pre-adult.”
“Well, no one here uses ‘pre-adult’ to describe a first-body.”
“Hmmph,” replied Jess. “No one’s going to watch this, anyway. I predict they’ll all die of boredom in the first ten minutes.”
In spite of Jessamyn’s conviction that no one would be interested in thirty minutes of how to eat, shower, and dress for the outdoors on Mars, the views of “A Hidden World: Everyday Life on Mars” exceeded anything that had been broadcast by the group to date.
“What did I tell you, huh, Jess?” asked Pavel, pumping a fist in the air.
“You totally called it,” she agreed, her tone flat. Jessamyn was not looking forward to recording, “Cleaning the Solars and Other Fun Tasks for First-bodies on Mars.”
But that turned out to be a very popular episode, as was, “Where Do First-bodies Go to Kill Time?” and “First Wrinkle: A Marsian Rite of Passage.” The latter program sparked an overnight fad for out-patient procedures to create a “Genuine Jessamyn Jaarda First Wrinkle.”
Even more popular, available at hair spas worldwide, was the color “Jessamyn Red.”
“It’s working,” said Pavel. “Less than a week and they love you.”
Jess just sighed and imagined a city wall surrounding Budapest with her head on a spike, red hair waving in the autumn breeze.
~ ~ ~
As the vids gained viewers exponentially, news feeds around the globe were bombarded with requests for verification that the vids were real—that inhabited Mars was real—and for the entire week of the fugitives’ broadcasts, you couldn’t watch a major broadcast feed without hourly mentions of the red planet.
By the end of the week of broadcasts, the major feeds were demanding proof: were the vids real? Was the information faked? Experts were brought in who claimed, alternately, that what the red-haired girl said was impossible or that it was entirely plausible. And what did the Terran government have to say about all this?
The Terran government kept very tight-lipped, thank you very much. The wave of Jessamyn-fever reached an all time high Saturday morning, Budapesti time, a day when Parliament’s members were expected to be home, not at work. Which gave Lucca time to prepare.
18
RENOUNCE HIS MAGICK ARTS
Yevgeny followed with interest the shift in Terran attitudes towards his sister and toward Jessamyn. He admired the chutzpah of the red-haired pilot. He told himself it had nothing to do with how her hair reminded him of his long-dead love, the fair Isobel.
Sister was going to lose.
He’d seen it happen before. Sister’s missteps were rare. If fact, Yevgeny had undergone four re-bodies since he’d last seen her in such a tight spot. But she would lose her position this time as she had then. And he knew, as few alive now did, what she would do in such a case. His sister would arrange for the apparent untimely death of her current identity. Prior to the “death,” she would jump bodies. Or something very like that.
He wondered whom she would choose this time. Occupying himself very little with Terran politics, Yevgeny wasn’t even sure who the likely candidates were. Perhaps the Governor General of the Terran Parliament? The position was currently occupied by a male of the species, and Yevgeny knew Sister preferred retaining her own gender. But he’d seen her re-body briefly as a man once. Or twice. He couldn’t recall anymore. The years were so many in number.
Yevgeny exhaled slowly and sank back into the leather couch. It groaned and settled. Like me, he thought, old and creaky. He ran his youthful fourbody fingers along the grain of the brown leather. Smooth. Warm, today, because the sun was currently shining on the lunar surface. In another three days it would be cold, though. The Ghost didn’t really mind the heat; it was the cold days that made him wish himself aboard a space station again.
But he wouldn’t be here when it turned cold.
He had decided to leave Tranquility Base. In spite of Earth’s nearly unbearable gravity. In spite of the noise, the throngs, the dizzying successions of sunrises and sunsets every twelve hours instead of every fourteen days. It was time to go. He had been Prospero long enough. It was time for him, like Shakespeare’s isolated man of study, to renounce his magick arts and return to civilization.
Sister’s downfall was at hand. He could feel its approach, even as he sensed his own life drawing to a close. This time, Sister could not be allowed to re-emerge, phoenix-like in some new form. Yevgeny had to see to that.
He ran his fingers along the smooth grain of the couch again. Back and forth, back and forth. Could he pull it off? He had the information. But Sister was clever. Well, he would have to be more clever.
He sighed. When her last hour came, he wished to be at her side. He owed her that. For reasons to do with compassion, certainly, but also because he didn’t trust her. Back her into a corner and she would fight all the more desperately. No, Yevgeny would not believe in Sister’s death unless he was there to see it ensue. Dangerous or not, impossible or not, Yevgeny had to make the attempt.
19
SUCH NEWS WAS FABRICATED
This was one of the rare moments when the Viceroy had his uses, thought Lucca, sipping her morning kávé. These times were getting fewer and further between. But the time had not yet come to replace the Viceroy with someone more … capable. No, for now, he would remain in power. A stabilizing influence.
For now it would be most convenient to have him make the broadcast assuring the people of Earth that the Mars hoax was, sadly, merely that. A wistful yearning, a “wish upon a star,” if you liked, and entirely without basis in the real world. Lucca had it all planned out. It would begin with her requesting an audience with the Viceroy. She set down her kávé and made the arrangements.
~ ~ ~
“Madam Chancellor,” said the Viceroy, welcoming Lucca to his offices.
Her heels sank into the plush red carpet. She didn’t remember it from before. Had the Viceroy put it in to make it more difficult for her to walk wearing her signature heels? Her mouth twitched. But then, recalling her mission, she drew her face into something more pleasant.
“I was quite relieved to hear from you, my dear Chancellor Brezhnaya,” said the Viceroy. “The news concerning Mars is all anyone can talk about. I welcome your thoughts on the topic.”
Lucca adopted what she thought of as her “wistful” look. “Believe me, Your Eminence, no one would be happier than myself to hear of a true Mars colony still in existence. But, as I told you in my earlier messages, the evidence all points the other way. It’s simply not possible.”
“More’s the pity.” The Viceroy gestured to two individuals standing to one side of the room. “In order to … assess the information you’ve brought today, these professors of Martian history have agreed to join us.”
Yes, they had agreed. Lucca had handpicked them herself, after all.
“Oh, and did you know the Mars colonists call themselves ‘Marsian’?” asked the Viceroy.
“They did, when they existed,” agreed the Chancellor. She pulled a wafer from her jacket pocket. “I believe this will settle all questions for you, Your Eminence.” She turned to the professors. “What you are about to see has not been released to the public. You will, of course, understand the necessity of keeping it that way.”
The two nodded in deference, and Lucca played the series of vids she’d crafted for this occasion. They were quite good. Very convincing. A hint of a smile brushed over her face, swiftly hidden. These were tragic records, after all, these recordings of the “last days” of Mars Colonial’s existence: the desperate pleas for emergency aid, the images of the dead, fallen where they lay because no one was left to bury so many, and finally, the silence following one last comm announcing the colony’s eminent demise.
“Tragic,” murmured the Viceroy.
“Indeed, Your Eminence,” agreed the Chancellor.
“And we’ve heard nothing since?” asked the Viceroy. “It does rather shock one, does it not? That Earth heard such pleas for mercy and did nothing?”
“Times were different, Viceroy,” said one of the professors.
“I suppose,” he replied.
“Even today you run into those who harbor a grudge for what the Mars Program cost our world,” added one of the professors.
Lucca, sensing the professors had done their job, turned to thank them and usher them from the room.
Now it was just Lucca and the Viceroy.
“There was one … final attempt to save the colonists, Viceroy. I could not speak of it with other ears in the room. There was a highly classified mission of mercy, at the last.”
The hopeful look in his eyes made Lucca ill.
“I suppose,” said the Viceroy, “there’s a small chance the fourbody is telling the truth, then?” He dropped his gaze to an image on his desk wafer: Jessamyn Jaarda, the “Girl from Mars.”
“Sadly, there is no hope for that,” said the Chancellor. “The final mercy ship launched, but when they arrived on Mars, they found a deserted world. All the colonists had perish
ed.”
“Ah,” sighed the Viceroy. “I wonder…. Perhaps the time has come to declassify this information?”
Lucca nodded, thoughtful. “I will look into it. As for the supposed girl from Mars, she’s as Terran as you or me. I’ve been watching her for years. She lives outside the law, is a known associate of inciters, and most likely decided this was the best way to promote instability on Earth.”
“Hmm,” intoned the Viceroy. “My advisors tell me she is very popular.”
“We must handle the situation with care, Your Eminence,” replied Lucca. “We don’t want to alienate that segment of society enamored of her tales. Perhaps this is the right time to let you know about a small private venture in which I’ve invested.”
The Viceroy’s brows contracted. “Not another jail, I hope, my dear Chancellor?”
The Chancellor forced herself to smile. The expression did not reach her eyes, however. “No, Your Eminence. Taking into consideration the current shortages of tellurium, I thought it prudent to invest in an organization sending ships to Mars.”
“Madam Chancellor,” said the Viceroy. “Such a mission would be highly illegal.”
“The Chancellor of the Terran Government is vested with the power to evade the ban on space travel,” said Lucca.
“Are you, indeed?” asked the Viceroy. “How curious.”
The Viceroy’s ignorance was appalling at times.
Lucca corrected the look of annoyance creeping across her face. She smiled sadly. “Although, of course, Viceroy, I would risk the ban if I had to, to secure lasting peace on Earth.”
“And are you telling me you have done so?”
The Chancellor nodded. “There is nothing I would not do to protect our way of life, to protect the harmony and plenty now enjoyed by so many.”
“Noble sentiments, Chancellor,” said the Viceroy. “I wonder….” He paced, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “Do you suppose you might be willing to announce this … mission to Mars? It might be an excellent way to redirect the enthusiasm for Mars displayed by the population at present.”
Mars Rising (Saving Mars Series 6) Page 5
