Mars Rising (Saving Mars Series 6)

by Cidney Swanson

  Lucca had to work very hard at pretending the idea had only now presented itself to her. “Perhaps a word to some of our friends on the planetary feeds,” she said softly.

  “My thoughts, precisely. If they were to suggest …”

  Lucca picked up the thought. “To suggest that Mars offers hope for our world after all…”

  The two smiled at one another.

  “Everyone would be happy,” said the Viceroy. “Well, everyone but the red-haired girl.”

  The Chancellor’s smile was genuine this time. She, for one, could live with that.

  ~ ~ ~

  No one would have been happier, remarked the Terran Viceroy on a subsequent planetary broadcast, to welcome the news of friends upon the sterile red planet, but, alas, it appeared that all such “news” was fabricated.

  Following the Viceroy’s statement, the Terran government released top-secret information, newly declassified, including a final plea for help from the last remaining colonists some eighty-five years previous. Sadly, by the time Earth’s government had sent assistance, (secretly, of course,) the colonists had been found long dead.

  No, Mars was empty but for its mineral wealth—considerable, pointed out the newscaster—and that was the sad truth behind the current fever for life on Mars.

  After a week of broadcasts along these lines, however, interest in the red planet remained high enough for Lucca to decide the time had come to … redirect some of that enthusiasm for all things Mars. She contacted the CEO of Earth’s pre-eminent news feed.

  “Mars remains popular,” said the Chancellor to the CEO.

  “Madam Chancellor, believe me when I tell you I am doing everything I can to contain things.”

  He was afraid he was in trouble. The Chancellor smiled.

  “Oh, I don’t blame you for it. The whole situation has blown sky high. We didn’t see it coming, you know, this fervor for Mars.”

  And then, the Chancellor proceeded to tell the CEO of the world’s most powerful broadcast feed that there was, after all, a secret mission to Mars underway.

  “For now, of course, you will keep this information to yourself,” said the Chancellor.

  The new man nodded nervously. “But, Madam Chancellor, if I might suggest, the timing on this—it would so perfectly diffuse the energy behind the Mars fever.”

  “Soon. Very soon. I will be in touch.” Lucca smiled. “Timing is everything, of course.”

  As she departed, the Chancellor gloated. Let the girl from Mars try all she liked; she was no match for Lucca Brezhnaya.

  20

  THE FEELING WAS MUTUAL

  Archibald Kipling was a man who had weathered many disappointments. His only daughter had been one. His brother, another. Hope had come late in life for Archibald, in the person of his brother’s son Cavanaugh. But that hope had lasted less than a dozen annums. So why hadn’t Archibald done as Meigs and Cavanaugh had done on the day the satellites rained terror on the planet’s surface? Why hadn’t Archibald ended his disappointing life?

  He wasn’t altogether certain.

  But something had kept him from crashing his planet hopper into the Hellas basin that dark day. And something had kept him eating his rations, drinking his water. (The full complement, thank you, none of your 93% wet rations.) He supposed he simply hadn’t been ready to clock out yet. He’d been waiting for a more spectacular opportunity, perhaps. To be one of a handful of suicides on the day the world ended? No. That wasn’t his style.

  In an astonishing turn, the world hadn’t ended that day, even though it was limping toward its end now. What was that line from the poem? With a whimper and not a bang? It was likely to be a bit of both, in the end. Lots of whimpering until the day, some three or four months distant, when the bang arrived.

  Archibald had created a new persona and sent encrypted messages to the Terran Chancellor. There had been no answer. A stark silence; an utter rejection. He didn’t blame her. It was how he would have done it himself. Best to start with a clean slate.

  Oh, the things Archibald could have done on the red planet with such a clean slate! His anger flared at the thought of it, and for several minutes, he allowed himself to be consumed by his rage. Eventually, he reined in his emotions. They were his servants, not his master.

  It was clear to him there would be no second chance for him to rule this world. No sneaking in and ingratiating himself amongst the new Martian colonists, freshly arrived from Earth. His appearance was too Marsian. He’d had the specialty treatments in the best spas New Tokyo could boast, but he still appeared too reddened and wrinkled to pass for Terran. Besides, he had that characteristically tall and gangly appearance of a Marsian. That alone would have given him away.

  How, then, did he want to go out? That was the question. He’d never had any tolerance for the whimperers of the world. No, if the end was coming, he preferred a bold bang, all things else being equal. And he preferred, as well, to manage it himself rather than wait for the coming Terran blasts.

  Setting his elbows on his desk, Archibald intertwined his fingers, steeple-like under his chin. How to do it properly?

  An hour later, Archibald had a plan. It was a fitting plan. Mars Colonial Academy Base had never appreciated him. He would demonstrate to them the feeling was mutual.

  21

  FAKE VIDS OF FAKENESS

  “Unbelievable,” whispered Jessamyn, after watching the Viceroy’s presentation on the broadcast feed.

  “A most unfortunate turn of events,” agreed Mr. Zussman.

  “Several of the images of Mars were not genuine,” remarked Ethan.

  “Not genuine?” cried Jess. “Completely faked, you mean. If that was Mars, I’m … I’m … Venusian.”

  “Some of the backgrounds were of early colonial New Houston,” said Ethan.

  “But most of it was faked?” asked Pavel.

  Jessamyn sighed noisily. “Anyone from Mars would laugh at those pictures. They were pathetic. And the walk-out suits? I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those. No—no, I take that back. If I wore one of those, dead is exactly what I’d be. I don’t know who Lucca consulted on those fake vids of … fakeness, but she should fire them.”

  Jessamyn’s personal outcry was matched by a portion of the Terran population. The response on Earth to the Viceroy’s talk and the following week of vids seeking to discredit Jessamyn of Mars took two distinct forms.

  On the one hand, there were those who believed the story about a last plea for help. These were indignant that Earth’s citizens had not been informed at the time. On the other hand, there were those who stubbornly clung to the idea that Mars was inhabited, now, and that it was time to reunite the worlds. And who, this segment of the population wanted to know, was responsible for duping the Viceroy in this regard, anyway?

  Lucca, meanwhile, embarked upon another round of hospital visits, school visits, and second world region visits, dispensing credits and flowers and kind wishes for better days ahead. Her ratings crept up a bit, and then a bit more.

  Jessamyn’s “Life on Mars” series continued, but the Chancellor’s propaganda teams worked tirelessly, suggesting that the vids were a money-making scheme, that the actors were sim-casts, that it was an inciter plot to destabilize the government, and so on. The popularity of the series began to wane.

  22

  THEY’LL REMEMBER MY NAME

  Sneaking in to MCAB had been less fun than Archibald had imagined. That was to say, he had imagined some actual sneaking. He circled the hangar, mostly empty at this hour—round the clock shifts had proven too taxing for some of the building’s systems, and now there was a mandated three hour down time for every twenty-four and thirty-eight minutes. And MCAB wasn’t even trying to keep saboteurs out.

  Inside his helmet, Archibald’s lip curled in disdain. So trusting, his fellow Marsians. So … pathetic. They deserved what was coming.

  In the quiet hangar, Archibald placed his explosives carefully. The bulk of them, he applied
to the Mars-class ship the deluded individuals of MCC hoped would save them. Even Archibald could tell they were behind schedule for that.

  Would it have made a difference to him if the ship looked likely to be in a position to fight back in a few months? No. Earth would just send more ships. More weapons. More people. There was no longer any hope for a Mars controlled by Marsians.

  It was just as well, thought Archibald. Marsians had shown themselves terrible stewards of the wealth and promise of the red planet. Briefly, Archibald allowed himself to revel in the rage he felt toward his fellows. Yes, they deserved what was coming.

  Placing his final explosive, Archibald stepped back to examine the hangar one last time. He checked his sleeve wafer to make certain his message to MCC was on its way. It irked him that he was probably not considered important enough for the message to be immediately escalated to the Secretary General’s attention. But that had been the problem all along, the sum of his many disappointments: he, who might have done so much, had been passed over, swept aside, forgotten.

  But not anymore.

  “By Ares, they’ll remember my name after this,” he said.

  And then he initiated his destruction.

  23

  HABIT OF DISSEMBLING

  Pavel gazed at the staircase leading to the upper story of the cottage at Tresco. Jessamyn was sleeping in late. It wasn’t like her. Pavel frowned and nudged a few loose stones edging the fireplace.

  Jess hadn’t been acting like herself for a couple of days now. Her smile had taken off a few days back, and Pavel didn’t know where it had gone or how to bring it back. All he knew was that he missed it. White teeth behind pink lips. The soft flush of color against her pale, freckled skin.

  Oh, her kisses were warmer than ever, and her hand would grip his, suddenly tight during planning sessions, but she was unhappy. Even her brother’s attempts to joke couldn’t pull a smile out of her. It was bad and Pavel didn’t know how to fix it.

  But he knew who to blame: Lucca. The anti-Mars campaign, as he dubbed it, was having an effect on more than just Jessamyn. Unfortunately, the entire world seemed to be buying Lucca’s lies, accepting as truth the falsified vids she’d created to show “The Last Days of Mars Colonial,” or whatever ridiculous name the broadcast feeds had given it these days.

  It was impossible to guess how many people had been persuaded by the Chancellor’s lies, but views of Jessamyn’s “Life on Mars” series were trending in the wrong direction.

  No wonder she was sleeping in so late. No wonder her smiles had vanished. A pleasant smell wafted to Pavel’s nostrils, and he turned to face the kitchen. Zussman had a hot breakfast nearly prepared, and Pavel, for one, didn’t want to face the butler’s disappointment if “Miss Jessamyn” didn’t make an appearance.

  Gripping the handrail, Pavel dashed up the stairs.

  Fortunately, Jess felt the same way. Less than five minutes later, the group of four sat around a table laden with croissants, hot oatmeal, and sizzling bangers. Pavel passed Jess’s tea cup to Zussman, hoping for a smile when he placed the steaming cup of her favorite beverage before her.

  No smile.

  Pavel shoved his disappointment all the way to his toes, curling and uncurling them in his boots.

  “Harpreet sent—” Ethan cut himself off, frowned, and resumed. “Good morning. Harpreet sent vid clips today of a most interesting nature.”

  That got Jess’s attention. Idly, Pavel wondered if the old Marsian would know how to get Jessamyn’s smile to put in an appearance.

  Ethan flipped the screen of his chair wafer so that the rest of the group could watch the clips.

  “As you can see, Harpreet has made contact with someone who assisted in the launch of the two Mars-class vessels currently en route to Mars,” said Ethan. “The person in question was left for dead, following the dosing of the launch crew with toxic gas.”

  “Ah,” said Zussman, brows contracted, “one of my former employer’s preferred means for ensuring no one speaks of her secrets.”

  “The man in question survived, went to ground, and eventually came to Harpreet’s attention,” continued Ethan.

  “Harpreet is developing quite the network,” murmured Pavel.

  Jess took his hand and held it tightly. He looked over. Her expression was grim. Well, at least she still wanted to hold hands. That beat the alternative.

  “So, when do we air these vids?” asked Pavel.

  “We must consider the possible impact of such a step,” said Ethan.

  “Obviously,” murmured Pavel.

  Ethan’s gaze shifted from his wafer screen to Pavel. “Thus far we have refrained from bringing to light your aunt’s hostile actions toward MCC. Once we do so, it is by no means certain how she will respond. However, as my sister has pointed out, it is possible she will respond by destroying all means of communication with Mars.”

  Jessamyn’s head dropped several centimeters. Pavel caught the subtle shift in his peripheral vision.

  “So, we wait until after you guys get the chance to comm home. Then we do the big reveal,” he said.

  “Eth and I talked about this some already, Pavel,” said Jessamyn. “The views on the Mars vids are way down. And they’re getting worse each day.”

  “My sister has expressed concern that we may not be able to recover from this downward trend without something … scandalous to draw attention to our cause once more.”

  Pavel guffawed. “Telling the world my aunt plans to nuke Marsians would fit the bill.”

  Jessamyn withdrew her hand. Her shoulders pulled back, and the lines of her face hardened.

  “Oh, shizer,” said Pavel. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny.” He couldn’t get anything right today. He ran his hands back and forth over his face as if to scrub away a case of “bad boyfriend.”

  “My vote is we tell all now,” said Jess. “Even if it were to mean we couldn’t comm home.”

  “I have been in disagreement with you up ‘til now,” said Ethan. “However, Harpreet sides with you, Jessamyn.”

  “Wait, what?” asked Jess. “She does?”

  “Have you known me to be in the habit of dissembling?” asked her brother

  A tiny smile crept over Jessamyn’s face.

  “I side with Jess,” said Pavel.

  “You are not a voting member of the Raiding party,” said Ethan. “However, Harpreet recommended we take the opinions of yourself and Mr. Zussman into consideration. The final decision, she has left to me, as the officer whose rank is next after her own.”

  “With respect, sir,” said Zussman to Ethan, “we cannot know what will transpire should we make the announcement of the Chancellor’s illegal attack. However, we can predict the direction in which views of Miss Jessamyn’s charming vids will fall, should we fail to grasp this opportunity.”

  “Very well,” said Ethan. “As the lone dissenting voice, I am content to be overruled. We make the vid announcing the Chancellor’s attack.”

  “You’re a bigger man than I am, big brother,” said Jessamyn.

  Her brother’s head tilted to one side. “Jessamyn is female.”

  “Last time Jessamyn checked,” said Jess.

  “Because I am missing limbs, your body mass is greater than my own,” added Ethan. “In what sense am I a ‘bigger man’ than you?”

  “Figure of speech,” chorused Jess and Pavel at the same time.

  Jess giggled.

  Pavel grinned. Hades and Aphrodite, he’d missed that laugh.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lucca’s heels clicked on the marble floor of the palace foyer as she strode to her front door. She was close to running late for the interview with the Terran Broadcast Network. There had been a few loose ends to tie up before her appearance, but everything was now in place. The Martian thought she’d played her trump card? Lucca smiled. The girl was so predictable. Unlike the Chancellor.

  Her butler held the front door of her residence open for her departure. A footman opened
her vehicle and handed her inside. “Terran Broadcast Network,” she said to her chauffeur. “Quickly!”

  Upon her arrival at the studio, her flawless makeup was touched up and she was presented to Charles, the interviewer. Seating herself comfortably, she smiled beatifically at the newsman.

  The interview proceeded exactly as she’d planned. But then, things did have a tendency to go the way she planned.

  “Yes, it is true I sent two ships to the desert world of Mars,” said the Chancellor. “The ships are part of what was meant to be a top-secret mission to mine tellurium.”

  “In light of the current shortage, this is exciting news,” said the interviewer.

  Lucca looked down as if hesitant to speak. “Exciting only if we succeed. The mission was kept secret for a reason.” A heavy sigh. “We didn’t like to raise false hopes, naturally.”

  “You raised more than that, it would appear.”

  “Are you referring to the wild speculation that the launch was destructive in nature? Well, I can’t be held responsible for the conclusions which are drawn by an inciter with mental instability.”

  “Let’s discuss the sensitive … legality of the launch, shall we?”

  “Of course,” replied the Chancellor. “It is illegal for civilians to fly above the three hundred kilometer ban. However, there are allowances in place for both the Chancellor and the military.”

  “So this was a military mission?”

  “Not exactly,” replied Lucca. “A military expedition implies taxpayer funding. As you are no doubt aware, funding is tight everywhere. Rather than burden citizens with a mission which might or might not succeed in returning a profit, I chose to shoulder the cost burden along with private investors.”

  “So, the mission is comprised of military personnel, but it is privately funded?”

  The Chancellor nodded.

  “But what if the ships get to Mars only to discover the tellurium is gone or inaccessible?” asked the interviewer.