What answer should the honorable individual provide?
We must examine the question posed by the UWTSI’s. Properly, the question they are asking is, “Do you have any re-body sympathizers in your household that we make take away and torture and kill?”
At this point, it becomes obvious what answer the honorable man or woman should give: “No.” By which response, the honorable individual conveys the truthful answer that, “No, I do not have anyone in my home whom you may take away to be tortured or killed.”
The Ghost looked up from his reading. He had nearly forgotten those years when it had been dangerous to be associated with those who supported re-bodying.
But he had the answer to his dilemma. In telling Sister, “No, I can’t help you regarding deep space transmissions from Tranquility,” he was really saying, “No, I do not have any information to provide that might lead you to destroy the residents of the red planet.”
~ ~ ~
Her brother had been tricked, obviously, thought Lucca as she scanned his answer to her question about satellite transmissions. Someone had used Yevgeny’s technology and hidden their tracks cleverly enough so that he’d never noticed. How maddening.
Adjusting her windows so that they created an artificial fall of snow, she sat in her chair and attempted to calm her agitated mind. Well, he’d always been easy to fool. She sighed. She was going to have to force him to evacuate so that she could destroy the source of the transmissions.
It did not occur to Lucca that he might have already abandoned the station, re-routing his comms to a new location. It did not occur to her that he might have sympathized with the Marsians and their cause. In short, it did not occur to Lucca that after so many years, her brother had finally learned to withhold from her portions of the truth.
27
CALL BACK THE SHIPS
Jessamyn sat in her room. It was before dawn, quiet and still. She was watching the subtle shifts in the light streaming through her window and considering going downstairs.
“Jessamyn!”
It was Pavel, and he was racing up the stairs.
“Up here,” she called.
“It’s all over the news, Jess,” said Pavel. “Another attack by Earth First.”
Earth First—the fake group of terrorists invented by Lucca to encourage sympathy for space exploration.
“Where?” she asked. But she knew without asking. “Yevgeny?” she whispered.
“We don’t know that he was on the base when it was attacked,” said Pavel, his face pinched with pain.
Jessamyn threw on a sweater and dashed downstairs. “Ethan? What do you have?”
Her brother was hunched over his chair wafer, his gnarled fingers dancing across the screen.
“Ah, good morning, miss,” said Mr. Zussman. “Terrible news. Perhaps it might be best to allow your brother to work uninterrupted. He is attempting to contact our friend Yevgeny.”
“Yeah,” replied Jess. “Right. Of course. So, no word from him yet?”
Mr. Zussman shook his head sadly. Softly, he added, “Your brother is doing everything that can be done. He is in consultation with Mr. Jamal Boslough as well, to ascertain if that individual has news of our friend.”
“Okay,” said Jess. “Okay.” She paced the length of the cottage several times before taking a seat at the rations table.
On a screen to one side of the area where Zussman cooked meals, Jess watched the news feed. She scowled when the familiar face of the Chancellor appeared.
“We utterly denounce such acts of terrorism,” Lucca was saying, “and we will bring to justice those who believe they can act outside the pale of the law.”
“Oh, please,” muttered Jessamyn, her eyes flashing angrily at the feed.
And then it struck her: they’d lost more than Yevgeny. They had no way to comm MCC. The call scheduled for two days from now might as well have been scheduled for two hundred annums from now.
The double blow struck hard, and Jess cradled her face in both hands.
The first words out of Jessamyn’s mouth as she came down the stairs the following morning were uttered quietly. “Any word?” she asked.
With each hour that passed, as her brother reminded them with statistics to back it up, it became less likely that Yevgeny had survived Lucca’s attack on the Moon. Lucca must have discovered the Ghost’s complicity in helping the Raiders and had chosen to kill him and the means of communication in one swift blow.
Pavel shook his head. “No word.”
Jess didn’t know what time Pavel had gone to bed. He was wearing the same clothes. He probably hadn’t gone to bed at all. She crossed to his side and sank into the couch beside him. Yevgeny had been Pavel’s only living relation, besides his aunt. Jessamyn kissed the side of his head softly.
“We lost those interview spots the big feeds offered you,” said Pavel. “They both said the same thing—they have too much other stuff to cover at the moment. Don’t comm them, they’ll comm you.”
“The cowards,” muttered Jessamyn. Of the two broadcasters, one had hinted it might be possible for them to use an orbiting satellite to send a message to Mars. That wasn’t going to happen now.
“They’re scared,” said Pavel.
“As they ought to be,” said Mr. Zussman. He handed Jessamyn a cup of tea. “Good morning, miss.”
“Yeah, ‘cause Earth First might knock out their satellites next,” said Pavel.
“It is possible your aunt would damage more than their satellites,” said Mr. Zussman.
Ethan, who looked as though he’d spent the night in his chair, looked up and addressed the group. “I have received a most interesting comm,” he said.
“The Ghost?” asked Jessamyn.
Beside her, Pavel’s hands clenched tight.
“Regrettably, no,” replied Ethan. “This comes from the Republic of Chicago.”
Jess inhaled sharply. “They know where we are?”
Pavel glanced out the window, alarmed as well.
“I beg pardon,” said Ethan. “Our location remains hidden. The message from the Republic of Chicago was relayed through a series of persons, each of whom are highly motivated to remain … undiscovered. Cameron Wallace was instrumental in ensuring the message reach us.”
Jessamyn’s fists unclenched. Her nails had imprinted her palms. Well, if someone had to know where they were, at least Cameron was trustworthy.
“What’s Chicago have to say?” asked Pavel.
“Hearing of Jessamyn’s difficulties in contacting her home world, they have offered to do so using their satellite relay system. In fact, they claim the idea sprang from their receipt of a message from Mars.”
“A message from Mars?” asked Jessamyn. “As in, Mars Colonial Command?”
“So they say,” replied Ethan. “They indicated the sender of the message was none other than the Secretary General of Mars.”
“Mei Lo sent a message?” asked Jess.
“They did not, unfortunately, send her message to us. However, they propose broadcasting it in six hours, once the citizens of the Republic of Chicago begin their day.”
“Holy Ares,” whispered Jessamyn.
~ ~ ~
When it was re-broadcast from the Republic of Chicago, there was no doubt in the minds of Jessamyn or Ethan: the message was utterly Mei Lo. Following a brief, formal greeting, the Secretary General got right to the heart of the matter.
“I cannot, and I will not, believe those who share a common ancestry with us would condone such an act of wanton destruction,” said Mei Lo. “And yet, the ships are on their way. I urge those who sent them: reconsider what you propose doing. Call back the ships. And I urge those who inhabit our former home, do not cease to demand the immediate cessation of hostilities. Together, our two peoples can be better than this.”
The video concluded with a performance by children gathered from schools around the planet, singing a piece calculated to melt hearts of stone. Behind them, a Marsi
an sunrise glowed warmly through the great window of the Crystal Pavilion.
Tears streamed down Jessamyn’s face as she watched children, some of whom she recognized, singing in praise of Mars’s golden plains and starry skies. When the broadcast concluded, Jess spoke, her voice quavering but her resolve firm. “Call the Republic of Chicago and let them know I’m on my way for the interview.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, Jess,” said Pavel. “I’m worried an interview is too dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous,” retorted Jess, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. “Sitting here is dangerous. I’m going.”
“I’m not talking about the danger to you, Jess,” Pavel said softly. “I’m talking about the danger to the people of the Republic of Chicago. What do you think Lucca will do to them if you storm into town and grant an interview? Think about what my aunt’s been doing with her so-called Earth First terrorists.”
Jessamyn’s brows furrowed. “She wouldn’t attack them. She wouldn’t dare.” But even as she spoke, a chill froze the blood in her veins.
Lucca would dare.
“My aunt’s been looking for an excuse to get rid of the Republic of Chicago for years. You set foot there, or grant a long distance interview, or in any way encourage people to connect Chicagoans with Marsians, and you can bet Earth First drops a weapon of mass destruction on them for it.”
“With respect, miss,” said Mr. Zussman, “I concur with Master Pavel. The Chancellor will certainly use this opportunity to destroy the republic. It has been a thorn in her side for decades. The fact that she has not done so yet is, of course, encouraging.”
Jessamyn rose. She walked to the front door.
“I need some time alone,” she said.
28
FLUTTERBY
The Viceroy occupied an interesting position in the echelons of Terran politics. He was the titular head of, well, the world. Always excepting a few minor nation states which had refused to join the global government instituted over three hundred years ago. His own title was hereditary and one of his earliest lessons from his mother, who had held the crown before him, was this: Never presume they will allow you to remain upon the throne.
So the Viceroy bent and swayed and accommodated himself to the wishes of the majority. Mostly, he was content to allow his Chancellor and his Parliament to do the actual business of running the world. It left him more time for his favorite pursuits: the collecting of valuable cellos and the breeding of nearly extinct species of butterflies. He knew this latter pursuit had earned him the nickname, The Flutterby King.
He knew it because he made a habit of being well informed as to the moods and opinions and needs of Earth’s over two billion citizens. He did not, however, reciprocate by informing the good citizens of Earth as to his own moods, opinions, and needs. Let them imagine who you are in accordance with their desires as to who you should be, or you’ll find yourself out of a hereditary title. His mother’s advice had proven sound. He was better regarded than had been either of his two predecessors because he agreed some things were better kept hidden.
When his original threebody had developed a fatal pancreatic disorder, he’d attempted to keep it a secret. Never advertise weakness, his mother had counseled. His physicians had only to keep him alive a few years until his next scheduled re-body. But the Chancellor had argued a slow spiral towards obvious illness was to be avoided at all costs. The Head of Global Consciousness Transfer had made a call to the Viceroy the moment a suitable match had been found.
In the reflection of his glassed case of butterfly specimens, the Viceroy caught a glimpse of his dark auburn hair. Marsian hair, if certain rumors were to be believed. At present, Earth was a-buzz with speculations as to the origin of the so-called “Girl from Mars.” The Viceroy was curious about her as well.
Whatever else the Viceroy believed, he was becoming increasingly certain that the Chancellor had lied to him upon several important points. Was he convinced Mars Colonial had survived? He smiled and shook his head ever so slightly. Too many times he’d been told of the supposed return of some extinct specimen of butterfly only to find out it was a hoax or a mistake.
No, despite the rather convincing broadcast supposedly sent by the leader of Mars, he would not believe in Martians—Marsians—until he saw one before him and spoke with her. This was what he had proposed to the Chancellor.
If the girl is so very great a nuisance, ask her to come to Budapest and make her case before parliament.
The Viceroy had been very pleased when the Chancellor saw fit to do just that.
~ ~ ~
Lucca Brezhnaya had just about had enough of that red-haired Martian. The Viceroy had thus found the Chancellor in a remarkably cooperative mood. Why, yes, she would be only too happy to issue an ultimatum: “If you are from Mars, show yourself. Come and make a formal presentation to the members of parliament.”
Lucca’s tone was mocking. It invited the intelligent viewer to laugh along with her. She did everything but add a wink at the end of her speech.
The Chancellor sighed in relief to see the viewings of her latest vid climb and climb and climb. The tides would turn at last, and the girl from Mars, while she lived, would become a laughing-stock. Yesterday’s old news. And when things had died down sufficiently, the girl from Mars would have an accident.
And then Lucca would definitely take a vacation. The strain of the past weeks had aged her, grayed several hairs, and, she was convinced, added an unflattering wrinkle between her brows. It was to be expected, of course. Bodies didn’t last forever.
The one thing the Chancellor did not expect was that the girl from Mars might actually consider the offer to appear in parliament. Because only a fool would march into the dragon’s lair. And much as it pained Lucca Brezhnaya to admit it, even to herself, the girl from Mars was no fool.
~ ~ ~
Mei Lo’s plea for mercy sparked another turning point for Terran opinion. Many who had been delighted with the possibility of life on Mars now began to see darker purposes at work.
“It’s not likely our government is secretly planning to erase an entire civilization, is it? Maybe it is inciters,” they whispered as they went about their daily errands. “The whole thing must be a hoax.”
This belief began, slowly but surely, to erode the credibility of the initial Mars broadcasts. Jessamyn’s recordings continued to receive heavy views, but the mood on Earth had shifted.
“They can’t believe their government would harm the innocent, therefore the messages from MCC must be fake,” said Jessamyn. “I’ve got to go to Parliament and testify under oath.” She turned to Pavel. “Will my blood and bones and all that still show evidence I grew up on Mars?”
“It won’t be as compelling as what I saw initially,” said Pavel. “And there will be plenty of people looking for alternative explanations. Besides, it’s too risky. I say we stay the course of the vids about everyday life on Mars. They’re still popular.”
“They are eight percent less popular today than they were the day before,” said Ethan.
“And yesterdays views were down from the day prior,” said Jess. “Someone’s got to take Lucca up on that offer. To show up and prove Mars is real.”
“Such a mission would be the errand of a fool,” said Ethan. “Mei Lo would certainly never authorize it.”
Jessamyn shrugged as though convinced. Although she would have welcomed her brother’s assistance, she hadn’t expected him to like the idea. But what she really hadn’t expected was Pavel’s response.
“Take a walk?” Pavel had asked after evening rations.
Jessamyn, scanning stats on the latest Mars vid, looked up. “Now?” It was dark out.
“It stopped raining.”
Jess glanced to the windows. It had been raining all day.
“Sure,” she said. “This is depressing me anyway.”
Zussman and Ethan were huddled in a corner of the room, examining the latest broadcasts
covering the so-called “Mars Controversy.”
Grabbing raincoats for both of them, Pavel tilted his head to the door. “Let’s just go.”
Jessamyn donned the water-proof gear. It was like a tiny miracle, the way nothing more was required for a walk outside. Her work on the vids had made her more than a little homesick, but she had to admit she didn’t miss having to suit up just to go out for an hour.
“Walk to the Abbey ruins?” asked Pavel.
“Fine by me,” said Jess.
The walk would be flat almost the entire way, and paved, too, which was smarter in the dark.
“I’ve been thinking about what you suggested,” said Pavel.
Jess turned to face him, the hood of her coat obscuring her view somewhat. “Suggested about what?” she asked.
“About going to Budapest and appearing before parliament. It’s risky, for sure, but I think it might be the only way to turn the Titanic around.”
“The Titanic?”
“A big ship that went down four or five hundred years ago because it couldn’t turn in time to avoid striking an iceberg.”
“Oh. Are you saying our efforts are about to sink to the bottom of the ocean?”
“It doesn’t look good to me,” said Pavel. “I was thinking about how there were vids about terrorism a few years back. For, like, two weeks, it was all anyone could talk about. All you’d see on the news. Were the inciters real? Were they just a story manufactured by the government to keep citizens in line?”
“What happened after those two weeks?”
Pavel shrugged, his coat making a crinkling noise. “Tellurium was discovered in some mine in Australia and everyone just lost interest in the previous story about inciters.”
“Your aunt made sure they lost interest.”
“She’s good at that kind of thing. That’s what Zuss says.”
“And now everyone’s losing interest in Mars,” said Jess.
A misty sort of rain had begun to fall, as though the sky was spitting at them.
Mars Rising (Saving Mars Series 6) Page 8
