Mars Rising (Saving Mars Series 6)

by Cidney Swanson

  It was during the time allotted to skin sampling that Demkovich returned.

  “Do you know where they are?” Jess asked. Her throat tightened. It was hard to breathe.

  “I have good news and bad news,” he replied.

  “Bad first,” said Jess, icy prickles in her stomach.

  “I, personally, was unable to speak with your friends. Chancellor’s orders, as we thought might be the case.”

  Jess nodded. “And the good?”

  “There’s someone to see you,” said Demkovich. He looked behind him, as if the someone ought to be there.

  Harpreet entered the room, having finished greeting and thanking the silent Swiss guards at the door.

  Jessamyn stared into the familiar brown eyes of her friend. And suddenly the length of time Jess had been awake, and the run-ins with Red Squadron, and the unexpected kindness of Terran strangers—all of these things combined with the horrible, horrible fact of her friends’ imprisonment in New Kelen, and Jess began to cry. Small gulping sounds at first, then hiccup-y gasping sobs she was powerless to stop.

  Harpreet Mombasu—planetary treasure, Mars Raider, friend—wrapped Jessamyn in her arms.

  “Oh, Harpreet….” Jessamyn tried to speak, but she couldn’t.

  “There, there, daughter,” said the low voice: familiar, beloved. Harpreet rocked softly back and forth, muttering small noises of comfort with Jess in her arms.

  Words tangled like brambles and wouldn’t form into sentences. The pain of her loss cut into her. Hot. Sharp. Fresh. “They’ve taken … Ethan….”

  “I know, child.” The old woman took Jess and sat with her, still holding her tight.

  Jess gasped for breath. “And … and….” She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t speak his name. Shuddering sobs wracked her body. Pavel.

  Jessamyn gripped Harpreet as though the old woman could save her—a friend holding out a share-mask while all the air left the room. Jess clung tightly, tightly, and sobbed. This was heartbreak. The heart, fracturing: shattered. His name came out as a wail, a desperate plea. “Paaa-vel!”

  “Ah, child,” murmured Harpreet. The old woman held Jessamyn all the more closely.

  And Jess cried still harder. Harpreet’s face pressed against hers, words soft in her ear. Words of comfort. Words of love. A world of tenderness at the center of the dreadful storm.

  And now the words came flooding out of Jessamyn, between gulps for air. “It’s not fair. Lucca had no right to interfere.” A pause, a breath. “Why can’t she just leave us all alone?”

  “Ah, dear one.” Harpreet’s warm hands smoothing her hair.

  Another torrent of words.

  “Who does she think she is? When has Ethan ever harmed anyone? Or good old Zussman? They shot him. Shot him, Harpreet! How could she? What kind of person does these things?”

  Pavel’s howl of shock replayed in Jessamyn’s mind.

  Pavel! A fresh flood of tears.

  “I … tried to … keep them safe,” said Jessamyn.

  “I know, daughter. I know.”

  “I tried so … hard.” More choking sobs.

  “Oh, oh, oh.” More murmured tenderness.

  A pause, as Jess caught her breath, and then a hot blast of remorse, of guilt.

  “It should have been me.” There: whispered—the truth. Jessamyn convulsed with grief. She’d failed. She had failed the ones she loved. Pain wracked her heart, and for many long minutes, there was only wave upon wave of shuddering tears. It should have been her.

  When at last Jess grew quiet, Harpreet spoke softly. “Should have been is a harsh mistress, my daughter.” The old Raider wiped at Jessamyn’s tear-streaked face. “Many labor on our behalf. Even now, there is hope. Your appearance in the House of Parliament alone, daughter, gives our planet a chance that did not exist before. You have done well.”

  Jess stared at her hands, at how they clung to her old friend’s arms. She loosed her grip, her head shaking slowly back and forth. Softly, so softly, she spoke.

  “Even if Mars is saved, Harpreet, it won’t be saved for me. Not if I lose Pavel. Not if I lose Ethan.”

  Harpreet took one of her hands. Held it tightly. Sighed.

  “I never … should have….” Jess broke off, struggling again for air. Wrong decision after wrong decision, ever since the Rations Storage Fire. She felt fresh tears spilling down her cheek. In a whisper, she asked Harpreet, “What if they die because of me?”

  “Ah, daughter,” said Harpreet. She took Jessamyn in her arms once more. “Can we, either of us, halt Brother Sol in his travels?”

  Jessamyn squeezed her eyes against the new tears. “I don’t understand,” she said bleakly.

  “It is something my mother used to ask when I attempted to shoulder more blame or credit than was my due.” The old Raider sighed as if caught in a faraway remembrance. “Could I stop the sun in his tracks, my mother would ask.”

  Jessamyn wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Shoulder more blame or credit: did she do that? No. Maybe. She wasn’t sure. How could you know, really?

  “Child, you and I are small creatures,” said Harpreet. “We lay our plans, and we act upon them, but we do not control the outcome. We cannot take the running of the universe upon our shoulders. We are too slight to bear such a burden.”

  Jessamyn nodded. Just a bit. And burrowed once more into Harpreet’s arms.

  “I’m afraid,” Jess whispered at last. “I’m so afraid.”

  “As am I, dear one.”

  And somehow that helped.

  Silence fell between them in the quiet room. Jess didn’t know if Demkovich or Elena were still there. She didn’t care. She was tired of being brave. Tired of being resourceful. And courageous. And responsible. She was tired of being grown-up, of being strong, of knowing what needed to be done next. Hades, she was so very, very tired.

  Harpreet sighed, stroking Jessamyn’s hair.

  After awhile, Jess opened her eyes. The two were alone. Jess was glad. It was like a moment’s respite. No one watching her, judging her, praising or censuring her.

  At last she pushed back from Harpreet’s embrace. A question pressed like a thorn into her heart.

  “Why do things have to hurt, Harpreet?”

  The old woman was quiet for a minute. “Things need not hurt, daughter. Make yourself hard as diamond, hard like the Chancellor, and you will feel hurt less and less.”

  “I don’t want to be like Lucca.”

  “No, daughter. Nor did I think so. Suffering is the lot of those who love. Pain is like a great window through which we see what matters, what is precious, what is of worth.”

  Jess nodded. She saw what mattered. It wasn’t Terran-style rations or flying fast ships or being named a planetary treasure. Pavel. Ethan. And poor Zussman. They were what mattered.

  A wrist-wafer Harpreet wore pinged softly, and the old Raider lifted her wrist to read it. Jessamyn had never seen such a device upon Harpreet’s arm before, although Pavel owned one just like it.

  Pavel. Another knife-twist of pain.

  Harpreet examined the message on her wrist-wafer, nodded once, then twice.

  “It is time for us to visit New Kelen, child,” said Harpreet. “We must hurry.”

  49

  IT WAS THE END OF THE WORLD

  Lucca Brezhnaya lay once again upon the operating table. She gave her wrists a slight flex and then scowled.

  “This one’s loose,” she called to the nurse.

  The nurse turned and added a layer of padding to the cuff securing Lucca’s left wrist, murmuring an apology. Consciousness transfer sent powerful impulses through the body, jolting it severely. Most times, Lucca didn’t care what markings her former body might end up with following the procedure. But this time, it mattered. Tell-tale markings on the Chancellor’s wrists and ankles would raise eyebrows.

  “How many times do I have to tell you people these things?” grumbled the Chancellor.

  “I’m sorry, Madam Chancellor,�
� said the nurse. “It won’t happen again.”

  Lucca tested her ankles. There, at least, all seemed well.

  “See you take equal care of my next-body,” added the Chancellor, looking toward the room where Pavel was being prepped.

  “Yes, Madam Chancellor. Would you like a mild sedative?”

  “Of course not,” snapped Lucca. “I’m no first-body on her initial visit.”

  “No, Madam Chancellor. Of course not.”

  Was that insolence in the girl’s voice? The pillowed restraint for Lucca’s head had been lowered so that she couldn’t examine the nurse’s face any more. Well, what did any of it matter now? The girl wouldn’t live to see the sun set in any case. No one but Lucca’s trusted Head of Global Consciousness Transfer ever survived her re-bodies. A tiny smile flitted across the Chancellor’s face.

  Lucca heard footsteps approaching her table. “Doctor,” she said, in greeting.

  “No, no. Not him,” replied a voice.

  Lucca’s head twitched, but she couldn’t move far enough to see who was addressing her. The voice was familiar. Or, rather, the intonation of the speaker was familiar. He came into her field of vision.

  “Do I know you?” asked the Chancellor, her tone a disinterested drawl.

  “Oh, yes,” said the man. “Yes, you do.”

  He was a fourbody, if Lucca was any judge. His garb was that of an emergency medic or floor technician. Even after so many visits to New Kelen, she still had difficulty interpreting the subtle markers of rank and position within the hospital.

  “Who are you?” demanded the Chancellor. “And why are you here?”

  Soft laughter. Tentative, cut off abruptly as though the laughing man was embarrassed by his display of emotion.

  The Chancellor froze. She knew that laugh. And then she sighed heavily.

  “Yevgeny, my dear,” said Lucca.

  “Sister,” replied her brother.

  “This really isn’t a good time.”

  “It is the only time.”

  Lucca’s fingers clenched. “Who let you in?”

  “The doctor.”

  “Dr. Bonhoeffer?” Lucca frowned. She would have words with the good doctor for this … inconvenience.

  “Yes, Sister. It was Harpreet’s idea, you know, to give us a chance to forgive one another.”

  Lucca made a small sort of snorting noise. “Very well, I forgive your intrusion. Please call Dr. Bonhoeffer. We’ll talk later.” She forced her mouth into a smile. “I promise.”

  “There’s not going to be a later, Sister. You lied to me. You lied to the citizens in your protection. You’ve probably lied to the citizens of Mars as well.”

  Lucca’s pulse quickened. “Who have you been talking to?” she whispered.

  “Friends,” the Ghost replied, after a brief pause. “Yes, friends is the correct designation.”

  “Who are these friends?” hissed the Chancellor.

  “It doesn’t matter, Sister. What matters—what Harpreet says ought to matter—is that you confess your sins. And make apology. Others will make amends for you.”

  “Bonhoeffer!” shouted the Chancellor. Blood pumped through her, warming her face, arms, chest. “Bonhoeffer!”

  “He is … otherwise occupied,” said the Ghost.

  “Yevgeny, I don’t know what game you’re playing at—”

  Her brother cut her off. “This is not a game,” he said. “At least, not one you can win. Sister, have you no confession to make?”

  “Guards! Guards!”

  The Ghost waited for his sister to pause for breath. “I will remain with you to the end, but the doctor tells me I must watch from the other room to prevent contamination during the procedure. Make confession, Sister. Harpreet says it will be better for your soul that way,” he said. He reached for her hand and took it in his briefly, tenderly. “Goodbye, Sister.”

  Harpreet? Lucca remembered that name. The Martian. The older one with no particular skill set.

  “Yevgeny?” called Lucca. She heard only receding footsteps. “Brother?”

  There was no answer.

  “Come back at once!” She waited. This was ludicrous. “Bonhoeffer! Nurse!”

  Lucca wriggled against her restraints. Where was that nurse? This situation was intolerable. Preposterous. Was Yevgeny under some delusion of grandeur?

  “Nurse! Nurse! Bonhoeffer, I demand you return to my side at once.”

  Her heart pulsed rapidly beneath her hospital gown.

  This was not possible. Not conceivable.

  It would never do to be seen in such a state. She attempted to regulate her breathing. “Nurse! You will return to me at once. I demand to be released!”

  Silence.

  She allowed herself a scream of rage. Her brother had meant it. Meant all of it. Another shriek. The indignity of it!

  This could not be happening.

  It was more than the end of Lucca Brezhnaya, Chancellor of Earth.

  It was the end of the world.

  “The end of the world, do you hear me? Fools! Idiots! You’ll all pay for this!”

  Oh, but they would pay.

  “Every last one of you! You’ll see! You are nothing without me! Nothing, I tell you!”

  Silence, when it came at last, was certainly not the result of Lucca having run out of venomous threats.

  50

  AN EXCELLENT CARD PLAYER

  Gaspar Bonaparte had not survived so many years without learning a thing or two about cheating the Rebody Program. This meant he also knew a thing or two about spotting a fellow cheater. Thus, when the Chancellor asked him to re-body as Lucca Brezhnaya, and to turn in a flawless performance, Gaspar had guessed all. He had no way of knowing for how long the Chancellor had been extending her life, but he was certain she’d done it.

  When the Chancellor gave him this next assignment, she mentioned a brother, Yevgeny by name, who might make contact. Gaspar had nodded, giving no indication the information was important to him. But it was. Siblings knew secrets. This sibling, whose very existence had been sheltered from public knowledge, might have very interesting secrets. Gaspar wanted to know them.

  Waiting in an exam room on the twelfth floor of New Kelen Hospital, Gaspar tried to count how many times he’d re-bodied. He was certain of twenty-six identities, but it seemed to him as though he might be missing one or two from the early years. Which was a pity. It would make the eventual composition of his memoirs an absolute nightmare.

  Well, the whole thing would have to sound fictionalized anyway, so it probably didn’t matter. He wondered how much longer he would have to wait for the procedure. The Chancellor wasn’t someone who wasted her time getting things done. But it had been forty-five minutes since his arrival in the waiting room. Which meant things had been delayed by half an hour already.

  What did it mean?

  ~ ~ ~

  Pavel felt consciousness returning. No, it was more as if he felt consciousness smacking him in the face. His eyes flew open and he examined his hands.

  His hands. They were still his hands. And they were unrestrained. He sat up and the room tilted to one side.

  “Steady, now,” murmured a voice from behind him.

  Pavel turned and the room spun, too, catching up to him in twitches. He blinked several times.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” said the nurse.

  Pavel stared at her, briefly wondering whom she was addressing.

  “I need an anti-emetic,” he said. His words slurred.

  The nurse administered the drug and Pavel noted the room righting itself. That was a relief.

  “Where’s my aunt?” he asked, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. It was only the nurse and him in the room.

  “Above my pay grade,” said the nurse, shaking her head. “There’s someone who wants to have a word with you, if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “Sure,” said Pavel. Was he free to go? Was “have a word” code for “interrogation at th
e hands of his aunt”?

  “Hang on,” said Pavel. “If I’d rather take off now, am I free?”

  “Of course, sir,” replied the nurse. She frowned. “Dr. Bonhoeffer was supposed to speak with you. He was called away just after I administered the stimulant. You didn’t hear it from me, but …” She turned to Pavel and spoke in a loud whisper. “You’re a free man.”

  “What can you tell me about Ethan Jaarda?” asked Pavel.

  The nurse’s face pinched and her eyes darted to the side. “I’m really not supposed to converse with you at all. My orders are to bring you to … to his Eminence as soon as you are mobile and coherent. Unless you decline.”

  “No, no,” replied Pavel. “I’ll go.” His Eminence? There was only one person on the planet with that title.

  The nurse accompanied Pavel to a room with two guards outside and one man inside of it. The man appeared engaged in observing the Budapesti skyline. Pavel crossed to the window.

  “Your Eminence,” he said, bowing deeply.

  The Viceroy turned and smiled. Held his ringed hand out for Pavel to take.

  Grateful for the etiquette lessons his aunt had foisted upon him year after year, Pavel took the offered hand, hovered his lips over the Viceroy’s ring of office, and released the hand, stepping backward the prescribed two steps.

  “I am delighted to meet you at last,” said the Viceroy. “It would appear we have a most troubling problem to solve. I wonder if I might ask for your input?”

  “Sure,” replied Pavel. “But first, you have to tell me if the girl from Mars is … safe. And her brother, Ethan Jaarda.”

  ~ ~ ~

  From the prep table where he waited, Gaspar Bonaparte heard footsteps. He’d acquired illegal auditory enhancements and judged the person approaching him was not coming from the direction of Lucca Brezhnaya’s chamber. So, not for him. He sighed and rested his head once more. How much longer was this going to take?

  The footsteps stopped outside his door. He heard the hiss of the pneumatic lock releasing. Someone was here for him after all. Unless his ears betrayed him, the someone was Dr. Bonhoeffer.