The holoscreen buzzed and faded to black.
“Oh, my,” said Jessamyn. “That last question? Just … brilliant.”
“Kazuko thought it was important to insert a sort of mental ‘call to action,’ as it were,” said Ethan.
“The important thing is people start asking questions, all right,” said Pavel, rising and stretching. “That sure was quite a history lesson, Eth.”
“Mr. Zussman was very helpful in pointing us to areas we might otherwise have left unexamined.”
Zussman bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I was, formerly, in a position to overhear many things.”
“She’s gonna be mad,” said Pavel.
“You have no idea, sir,” murmured Zussman.
For the next several days, each morning saw another vid or two.
“You have been busy,” said Jess to her brother over rations one evening.
“I have,” Ethan replied. “I regret it has meant I am no longer pursuing a solution to the heat shield damage sustained by the Star Shark.”
“Well, we didn’t have a lot of hope there to begin with, did we?” she asked sadly.
Ethan shook his head.
The Ghost, who had now become a permanent fixture at the daily shared rations, furrowed his brows. “Star Sharks haven’t been fashionable for nearly thirty years, you know.”
Pavel grunted, a small laugh. “That’s for sure. They pre-date me.”
The expression on the Ghost’s face changed.
Ethan addressed him. “Am I correct in interpreting your facial expression as indicating the experience of unexpected happiness?”
Jess looked up from her ration bar to examine the Ghost; she would have called the expression “looking pleased with himself.”
“Well,” said the Ghost, “if your ship was a popular model, you wouldn’t be likely to find spare parts in the junk clusters, now would you?”
“Oh, excellent point, man,” said Pavel, grinning at the Ghost.
“You think we can find salvageable parts?” Jess asked their host. “To fix the Star Shark?”
The Ghost shrugged. “You never know. Recycling is backed up this month. It’s a good time to go looking.”
“I volunteer!” said Jessamyn. “I absolutely volunteer. Can we leave right now?”
27
Tranquility Base, the Terran Moon
It took a full day — a very long day by Jessamyn’s estimation — for things to be readied for the intended hunt for Star Shark parts.
Impatient to fly again, Jess headed straight for the cockpit of one of the Ghost’s working ships. He had quite a collection, mostly in various states of repair or reconstruction.
“What do you need so many for?” she asked, pausing to gaze at the over a dozen ships assembled in a large hangar.
“I don’t need them. I just like building them from scrap. But only these two are fit to fly,” the Ghost replied. He thumped one that was no bigger than a child’s cycler. “This one’s no good for rescues. Only enough room for one.” He gazed out over the rest of the assembled crafts. “The others need parts I haven’t found yet.” He pointed to an especially well-polished vehicle. “That Atlas-class? I’ll be lucky to find spare parts for her anytime in the next decade.”
Jess noted there wasn’t a Star Shark among the retinue.
No easy pickin’s, she said to herself, repeating a Crusty-ism.
“Come over here,” called the Ghost. “We need to fit you for a suit.”
“I brought my g-suit,” said Jessamyn, holding it up for the Ghost’s examination.
“You’ll want something a little more substantial.”
“More substantial?”
“My ship is … older. Not pressurized. And we may need to do an EVA,” explained the Ghost. “It is difficult to persuade items to follow you home like a dog.”
Jess smiled. “I think you just made a joke.”
The Ghost’s mouth turned down. “It was a very bad one. I don’t know much about making jokes.”
“Well, I don’t know much about dogs. Do they really follow you home?”
The Ghost seemed to lose himself in a reverie. Then he gave himself a small shake and resumed searching for a Jess-sized suit in a tidy row of suits. He didn’t answer her question; ignoring questions was a part of his inscrutability.
“This should fit you,” he said, holding up a suit.
But as she reached for it, the Ghost seemed to change his mind, pulling it away.
“No, no, no,” he said. “My mistake. This isn’t one of the ones with your brother’s improved safety features.”
“My brother has been messing with your collection of suits?”
“He’s made improvements.” The Ghost rattled off several of her brother’s changes.
“Those are all standard safety features on Marsian walk-out suits,” said Jessamyn.
“And now they’re standard on my space suits.”
“Can I ask why you have so many? Suits?”
The Ghost shrugged. “You never know when one will come in handy. I collect metal recyclers as well.” Here he frowned slightly. “I will admit I have never found a use for spare recyclers. The suits, however, are useful for rescue situations in which someone’s suit is damaged. Or in case they traveled without one. People do, you know.” He shook his head gravely.
“And if your rescue ship’s not pressurized,” said Jess, “then you need them. Good planning.”
Once they were suited up, the Ghost asked, “Would you like to take the helm?”
She’d been hoping to, and at the sound of the simple word helm, a thrill pulsed through her. “Hades and Aphrodite, yes!”
The ship was compact inside; there was just enough room for a third person. It looked as old as some of the crater-runners Crusty kept back on Mars. It probably was that old, Jessamyn thought. She took a pressurized breath and spun up the antiquated engine.
“She’s a beauty,” said the Ghost’s voice, from inside her helmet. He ran a loving hand along the comm panel before him.
Feeling the hum of the Ghost’s tiny transport, she grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. “Your ship’s in excellent repair.”
The Ghost shrugged. “I do what I can.”
They slipped out of the hangar and into a ship-sized airlock. Jessamyn willed the bay door behind them to close more quickly. It was all she could do to sit still. In fact, before the outer door had completely retracted, she was squirming slightly. She hoped Yevgeny didn’t notice. Hades, she’d missed flight.
The Ghost’s small ship seemed to leap from the moon’s surface, as eager to fly as Jessamyn was herself.
“Woo-hoo!” she shouted as they shot free of the Moon’s minimal gravity. “Oh, this feels like home!” she cried enthusiastically to her companion.
“I’ve never been to Mars,” was his only remark on the launch.
In fact, he remained silent until they approached one of Earth’s upper orbits and had to choose a site for scavenging. Jess didn’t mind his silence; it gave her a chance to soak in the starry heavens, to recall the eternal transit from Mars to Earth she’d managed alone. She grew nostalgic for her days aboard the Galleon.
Jess shook her head. If she was nostalgic for that trip, she clearly needed to get out more.
“I have a good feeling about holding dump number seventeen,” the Ghost said at last, tapping his forefinger on the nav screen. “Take us in, pilot.”
“Aye, Captain,” said Jessamyn.
“Captain?” Evidently, the designation tickled the Ghost’s fancy. He laughed, in spurts, for the next several minutes, occasionally repeating, “Captain!” to himself.
When they reached the holding dump, there was, indeed, a much-battered Star Shark among the ruined collection.
“How did you know?” Jess asked, delighted.
The Ghost shrugged. “I keep my ears open.”
Retrieving the panel was exhilarating; Jessamyn didn’t tell the Ghost it was her first space
walk, although of course she’d drilled sims at the Academy. But only one panel of the ship’s heat shield was salvageable, the others having suffered damage that left them no better than what the crew already had in their possession.
The two secured the panel and re-entered the ship’s tiny cabin.
“One is better than none at all,” said the Ghost, as they returned to their seats.
“But we can’t go back to Earth unless we replace all three panels,” said Jess, feeling an ache for a working ship to call her own.
The Ghost checked the oxygen reading on his wrist display. “Another day,” he said. “Time to take us back, pilot.”
“Aye, Captain,” replied Jessamyn.
The Ghost laughed once more, but then something else caught his attention. “Hold on. I’m getting something on the emergency feed.”
Jess looked up from the nav panel, fingers itching to go.
“Would you like to assist with a rescue?” asked the Ghost.
“Of course,” said Jess, a cold thrill running through her. “I know what it’s like to be in trouble in deep space.”
“You will have to relate your tale to me another time,” said the Ghost. Hurriedly, he sent her a new set of coordinates. “Is our fuel reserve sufficient to get us back to base if we fly here?” He indicated a spot only a few hundred kilometers distant.
“Fuel checks out,” she said, consulting her nav screen.
“It’s the suits we should be worried about, I suppose,” said the Ghost.
“Should we?” she asked, examining the readout on her wrist. They had several hours of breathable air remaining.
The Ghost looked at his wrist as well. “Hmm. I travel with backup canisters. We’ll be fine.”
Jessamyn nodded and engaged her rear boosters, shooting forward. She saw the tiny spot on her screen long before it became a man-shaped object.
“He’s still alive,” said the Ghost, examining the comm screen before him.
“He’s so small,” said Jess. She could see him now, using screen magnification.
“He’s still at least. So, not a complete idiot.”
“Trying to hold off CO2 poisoning,” murmured Jess. She grimaced, remembering how she’d fallen into a near-deadly sleep aboard the Galleon.
They pulled close, the Ghost offering directions even though Jess could have figured it out with no help. There was the spacer, perhaps fifteen meters from his ship. She didn’t see a tether anywhere in evidence. “What was he thinking?” she whispered softly. She brought the ship in close.
“You’re a very good pilot,” said the Ghost, nodding with approval.
Jess felt her face warming, but she didn’t answer.
“Distressed harvester, this is NV136, responding to your signal,” said Jessamyn. “Do you read?”
A pause. And then the spacer began to twist, looking for his rescuer, Jess assumed. Stay still, idiot, she thought in silence.
“Help me!” cried a man’s voice from within their helmets.
“Stop thrashing,” replied the Ghost. “You’re going to be fine.” Turning to Jess, he said, “I’ll be right back.”
“You want help out there?”
“If I need help, I’ll also be right back.”
Jess nodded, staring in fascination at the suited man outside. Her heart beat swiftly, as though she’d been running. They’ll be fine, she told herself. Several minutes later, the Ghost appeared outside on her view screen. He joined the stranded man, tethering both of them to the same relay.
“We’re coming in,” said the Ghost, his voice crisp in her helmet.
Jessamyn wished her pulse would return to normal. She was probably going through her air faster, although she couldn’t remember the heart rate to air consumption ratios she’d had to memorize at the Academy.
It took several minutes for the Ghost and his evacuee to make it inside the small ship, and then several more minutes passed during which the Ghost seemed to be taking vitals and evaluating the health of the rescued spacer.
“I thought I was a goner, for sure,” said the man, once the Ghost attached a fresh O2 canister to his suit.
One less canister for us, Jessamyn noted.
“I know you never leave your ship without a tether,” said the junk harvester, “but I thought I was close enough … I thought I could just … well, I was an idiot and you saved my life.”
“Are you ready to return to your ship?” asked the Ghost.
The spacer shook his head. “Ship’s dead in the water. That’s why I was out in the first place: to try and fix her. I should’ve just called for assistance instead of stepping out on my own like that. I’m lucky to be alive.”
“Very lucky,” muttered Jessamyn. She had done some crazy things in her life, but to leave a ship when you could comm for help? She shook her head.
“Oh,” said the Ghost. “This is Jes—”
“Just a friend,” said Jess, covering for him. She didn’t want her name out there. Lucca knew her name. Others might know her name.
The spacer stared at her for a moment just as Jessamyn noticed a few tendrils of red hair escaping the knot that held the rest together. Stuck as she was inside a suit and helmet, there was nothing she could do about the loose hairs.
Shizer.
Inside the spacer’s helmet, Jess thought she saw his brows pull together as if considering whether she looked familiar.
Swiftly, she turned from the stranger. “Where to, Captain?” she asked the Ghost.
He was delivering the coordinates when Jessamyn felt a hand press against her elbow. She looked at her elbow. There was a ration-bar sized object now covering her suit junction for emergency medical injections. She felt a warm rush that emanated from her arm and toward her heart.
“What the—” Her question remained unfinished. She found it suddenly too hard to move her tongue to form words. With a last great effort, she swiped at the object on her elbow. Her hand missed and she struck her shoulder instead. And then her eyes closed and she knew nothing more.
28
New Houston, Mars
In spite of the uncertainties surrounding Jessamyn and Ethan’s safety, in spite of Mars’s own fragile state, Lillian Jaarda had never been happier at her work. Each new day brought another opportunity to institute lasting change. The ache for her children receded like polar ice in summer, shrinking to something more manageable, less consuming.
“We’re working on big changes,” she said to her husband. “And there will be no more hiding in dark corners, I can tell you. Everyone will enjoy full access to what everyone else is doing and cross-contamination of ideas be damned.”
“I think it always was, my dear,” said Geoffrey Jaarda, kissing his wife’s cheek. They stood in her new office, now their home as well, gazing out to the sunset. “The kids will be so proud of you. We can speak with them in a couple weeks, you know.”
Lillian smiled. Her smiles had become more frequent recently. Geoffrey had suggested she might prefer a different office because its prior occupant had been the traitorous Meigs, but Lillian felt no discomfort in her new home.
“I like living and working at the same place. It’s like being away at desert camp,” she told her husband. “Everything in one place.”
The team of Lillian plus nine researchers had been augmented. The Secretary General had added two full time cyanobacteriologists, who were relocated from New Tokyo’s methane production facilities, and four local college interns. New Houston University was still shut down, “temporarily,” in the interest of preserving resources. Lillian could tell Geoffrey enjoyed conversing with the students, three of whom had been in his classes previously.
When her husband asked her how the new additions measured up, Lillian admitted she was favorably impressed with all six. In fact, there was only one team member whose behavior she said puzzled and occasionally troubled her.
Samuel Gomez rarely spoke to anyone voluntarily and made almost no contributions to the team’s twic
e-weekly meetings, which Geoffrey had begun attending. In fact, Lillian had been wondering if Gomez might prefer early retirement, when a series of events pointed to Gomez’s remarkable contributions to Plan Ag.
It started with a comm-call from the Secretary General.
~ ~ ~
Mei Lo asked for frequent updates from Plan Ag, a by-product of the Secretary’s determination to “make agriculture sexier” amongst Marsian youth. But Mei Lo’s comm today was for Geoffrey.
He got himself out of his building and into the antechamber of the Secretary’s office in less than seven minutes.
“Dr. Jaarda, I want your opinion on an oddity we’ve discovered at the South Pole.”
Geoffrey raised his brows as he took a seat opposite the Secretary’s desk.
Mei Lo continued. “We were pretty panicked twenty-four and a half hours ago, I can tell you. Regions around 81°25’S and 5°13’E were showing excessive heat consistent with the early stages of the laser attacks.”
Geoffrey frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It didn’t,” said the Secretary. “But the readings didn’t change like they did with the lasers, and of course anyone with eyes can see the satellites are gone.”
“You’re telling me there’s a hot spot on the South Pole?”
Mei Lo nodded in the affirmative.
“And you don’t know what caused it?” asked Geoff.
“We don’t know,” said Mei Lo. “But General Mendoza is worried it could be something dangerous that fell or launched from the satellites when they were destroyed. I can’t spare him for even a short visit to the pole, and he says he’s not the one who should go in any event. If whatever’s down there came from the satellites, it’s technology that’s over sixty annums old.”
Geoffrey guffawed. “My interest in historic weaponry might come in handy, you mean. So, you want me to take a look and figure out what’s down there that’s causing the temperature to spike?”
Striking Mars (The Saving Mars Series-5) Page 11
