The news left Jess feeling oddly vulnerable. She had begun to take for granted the easy back–and–forth communication with her home world. The loss of this simple contact made Jess feel untethered, as though she were being swept out with the receding tide.
Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Pavel approaching, hesitant. She didn’t want to talk to him, and she spun to leave before he could reach her.
Back in her room, she tried to find comfort in some of the books from Cameron’s impressive collection. But instead, she found herself worrying about Mei Lo’s upcoming election. In the end, she set her wafer aside.
Sleep eluded her and she listened for hours as the wind howled around the castle, like a wild thing seeking a way inside.
8
Madeira, Earth
In the morning, her eyes crinkly from lack of sleep, Jess found a message from Pavel, left beside her bed,. Pavel could have commed her through the earpieces they all wore. He could have sent a message through her wafer. But he’d chosen instead to spill ink upon one of Cameron’s thick sheets of linen paper.
Jessamyn,
I apologize for not speaking with you before yesterday’s meeting. I wanted to force you to look at things, and I was afraid you’d tell me we shouldn’t discuss them at all if I went to you first. I guess you already figured that out. It was wrong of me and I’m sorry. Please talk to me again. I miss you.
Pavel.
A small smile spread across her face. She had his admission of wrongdoing and a request to be forgiven. Something still rankled about the whole situation, but Jess decided that she would imitate Harpreet’s forgiving nature rather than go with her own impulse to harbor a grudge.
And besides, she missed Pavel too.
She dressed quickly. In the Great Hall, she slipped into a seat beside Pavel for morning rations—oatmeal topped with a fruit she didn’t know—and gave his free hand a quick squeeze.
“We’re okay,” she murmured.
Pavel’s face shone as he smiled at her. Slanting sunlight cast one side of his face in brightness while the other hid in shadow, lending it a chiseled appearance. Jess gave him a quick kiss, and the two fell into conversation, friends once more.
Jessamyn’s morning was devoted to working with Cameron’s paramilitary pilots, which meant, now that things were sorted out with Pavel, she was in a remarkably good mood.
A clear sky improved her mood further, and she was positively happy by the afternoon when Kipper met with her for flying practice.
But unlike Jess, Kipper was not having a good day, and Jessamyn had to commandeer control of the vessel repeatedly in their hour together.
Finally, Kipper slammed her fist against the control panel in front of her. It was an uncharacteristic action for Jessamyn’s normally cool–headed former captain.
“Kip,” Jess said softly, “You’re doing just fine.”
A noisy inhale, a quick nod of the head were Kipper’s only responses.
“You’d pass any test the Academy could throw at you now.”
“I wouldn’t pass with distinction,” said Kipper, a bitter cast to her inflection. “I’m slow. I’ve lost my edge.”
Jess didn’t know what the right response would be. What would she want to hear, in Kipper’s shoes?
“It will all come back to you in time,” she said at last. “We’re done with technique for today. Take us wherever you want.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “I know you like weaving around the islands at the end of the chain.”
“Roger that,” replied Kipper.
Jess could tell Kip’s heart wasn’t in it, but she reasoned her friend’s mood might improve with a little playful flying. Jess wondered again what was troubling Kip. A pilot needed confidence to fly well, and last night Kipper couldn’t even to bring herself to vote. Was it a lack of confidence, then?
“I noticed you abstained from voting,” Jess said, cautiously. “Is that because you’re worried about…your brain?” She glanced over to her former captain, engaged in turning the ship toward the string of islands to the south.
“It wasn’t about my brain.”
“Good,” said Jess. “Because there’s nothing wrong with how your brain is processing data. I had Eth take a look at the records from our last couple flights. He says it’s just your brain isn’t relaying information as quickly as, well, as it did before, but he also says your choices and actions are solid.”
Kipper nodded. “I abstained from voting today because I felt uncertain, not because I felt incapable.”
“Oh. Okay.” Jess sensed there was more coming.
Kipper approached the final isles, tilting her head in a tiny motion that was almost bird–like as they slowed for another turn.
When did I learn how birds move their heads? Jess wondered. Not on the island of Madeira. The bird–less archipelago wasn’t a part of any migratory paths. It was Yucca, she remembered. Roadrunners. She felt the weight of guilt for her part in Yucca’s destruction; it settled, claws sinking into her shoulders. Piercing. Crushing. Familiar.
A small sigh escaped Kipper, calling Jess back.
“I know what our orders from MCC are,” said Kip. “And I agree that, for now, we should follow them.”
Jessamyn thought she saw guilt in the flush on Kipper’s face.
“What do you mean, for now?” asked Jess. “Either the Secretary General gave us clear instructions or she didn’t. And she totally did. You got that part, right?”
“Mmm–hmm,” intoned Kipper.
“But?” demanded Jessamyn.
“But I think we need to remain flexible, should new circumstances arise,” replied Kipper.
Flexible? Kipper? Jess wasn’t sure where this new Kipper had come from. Brain damage was the only explanation. And then an uncomfortable thought struck her.
“Kipper, are you saying you think your brother could be right? That we should engage in openness and trade?”
Kipper didn’t answer right away, which concerned Jessamyn even more.
“If that’s the road you’re looking down,” said Jess, “I have a few things to remind you about.”
“I don’t need reminders about my brother,” said Kipper, irritated.
“Good,” said Jess, shielding her eyes from Earth’s over–bright sunlight. She attempted to keep her face relaxed as she asked her next question. “Are you in communication with him?”
Kip’s eyes narrowed briefly. “Am I in communication with Cavanaugh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You just suggested flexibility as opposed to…” Jess tried to think how the old Kipper would have phrased it. “As opposed to rigid adherence to the letter of the law.” That was not how Kip would have put it, Jess admitted to herself. “Playing fast and loose with orders sounds like your brother, not you.”
“Being flexible with the truth is what my brother does. Being flexible with one’s response to the truth—or one’s orders—is entirely different.”
“Since when have you advocated having a flexible response to orders?”
“I’ve changed,” said Kipper.
Jess raised her eyebrows.
“But not in regards to my opinion of Cavanaugh,” Kip added.
“Prove it,” demanded Jess, her voice too loud for the tiny cockpit. It was an unfair request, and she knew it.
Kipper took a moment before she responded.
“I want to remain open–minded about our future here.”
“That sounds to me like the kind of thing you’d say if you’d decided Cavanaugh and his cohorts were in the right.”
“Don’t twist my words into something they’re not,” snapped Kipper.
Jessamyn gave a tiny nothing of a shrug, defending her right to doubt.
Kipper responded with an exasperated sigh that Jess remembered well from their time together aboard the Red Galleon.
“Oh, for the love of fuzzy slippers,” muttered Kipper. “I do not now, nor have I ever agreed with Cavanaugh. You heard how he r
enounced what I said on a planet–wide broadcast. He knows I’m alive, and he’s furious I’m still fighting his ideals, and that left him with no option but to declare me brain–damaged. Trust me, we’re dead to each other, Jess.”
“Good,” said Jess, trying to find a way to sit upright in the too–soft cocoon of her nav chair.
“I’m simply pointing out that we could choose to go against Mei Lo’s recommendation, if such action were merited, as Pavel and Cameron believe.”
Jess pounced on the statement. “The Kipper I know would rather die than ignore the chain of command.”
A half–smile flitted across Kipper’s face.
“This isn’t funny.”
“No,” agreed Kip. “It’s not. But it’s ironic, you leveling this sort of allegation against me.”
“I’m not the one suggesting we break the law,” said Jess, defensive.
“Not this time,” said Kip, her voice quiet.
The accusation hung in the air between them, and Jess felt her cheeks and neck flaring hot. Why wouldn’t anyone let her past be past?
“Let me tell you a few things I’ve learned,” said Kipper. “You’ll recall how, back on Mars, I resigned when I heard you were assigned as my first officer for the raid. Do you know why I didn’t want you on the Red Galleon?”
“Because I’ve been known to ignore the chain of command,” muttered Jess.
“Exactly. And I assumed that meant you were exactly like Cavanaugh. Self–serving and a liar to boot.”
Jess felt her cheeks burning hotter.
Kipper continued. “No one was fooled for one minute about that stunt you pulled with the planet hopper, back before they chose you as a Raider. You were about to disobey orders, and you faked a comm problem to get away with it.”
“But I saved the ship,” said Jess, retreating to defensiveness.
“I combed through the report of that incident, looking for a way to show what you did was wrong, to prove you couldn’t be trusted aboard a raiding ship,” said Kip. “But in the end, I was forced to conclude your actions were justified by what you achieved. Had you waited for and followed orders, a valuable resource would have been destroyed, and your own safety might have been compromised.”
Jessamyn shifted uncomfortably. She no longer felt certain she had done the right thing, then or any time since, when she’d disregarded orders, protocol, and common sense.
“And that’s why I didn’t want you on my ship, Jaarda,” said Kipper. “You were irrefutable proof that there are times when it is better to go with your own decision–making than to follow orders. I couldn’t handle that. Or I didn’t want to. The implications were too…it was more than I knew how to think through at the time.”
Jess stared at the nails on her right hand, uneven, dirty. “I’ve had a chance to reconsider my actions since then,” she said, softly.
“And so have I,” said Kipper. “There are times when obeying a command is not the right thing to do. Great Craters of Ares, Jessamyn Jaarda! If anyone can understand, I would think it would be you.”
Jess held her body in stillness, but in her imagination, she could see herself shaking her head.
“Jessamyn, listen,” said Kipper. “I support Mei Lo one hundred and ten percent. But today, when we voted, I felt conflicted. So I abstained from voting. And if she isn’t re–elected, I don’t know that I’ll be able to follow orders next time.”
“I see,” said Jess.
“Am I off the hook for treason, then?” asked Kip.
“Of course,” said Jess. “Sorry.”
“It was a perfectly reasonable suspicion,” said Kipper. “He’s my brother. The worthless toad.”
A small laugh escaped Jessamyn’s throat.
“And by the way, you’re nothing like Cavanaugh,” said Kipper.
Jess looked up at Kipper, hopeful.
“Cavanaugh makes all his decisions with an eye to how the outcome will benefit him. And only him. You’re different, Jessamyn.”
Jess shook her head. “I’m not so sure.”
“Jess, look at me,” said Kipper. “I am here today because you are different from Cavanaugh. You risked your life to save mine. My brother would never have done that.”
Jess shrugged uncomfortably.
“He wouldn’t,” Kipper repeated. “You’ve taught me that sometimes following orders is not the most important thing. Not when your conscience is pulling you the opposite way. I’m here today because you were stubborn enough to try something you knew darned well MCC would never have authorized.”
Kipper reached for one of Jessamyn’s hands.
“I owe you everything,” murmured Kipper. “And I’m striving to be more flexible in my own thinking. That’s what you heard just now. Me. Being open–minded. Or, trying, anyway.” She laughed softly.
Jess sighed. “Don’t try too hard. You can’t imagine…” She broke off, her throat swelling with emotion. Then she swallowed and spoke again. “The weight of a decision is always heavier in the long run than it feels in the moment. Stick with obeying the rules, Kip. You’ll be much happier.”
“Hey,” said Kipper. “You need to look at the positive outcomes as well as the negative ones.”
“Yeah,” said Jess. “I’ll work on that.” Her tone made it perfectly clear she would do no such thing.
And then the ship flashed a warning upon both the pilot’s and navigator’s consoles. Descend immediately. All flying is suspended effective immediately. A wailing noise rose from somewhere in the small craft and Jess took over the helm, bringing them back to the small hangar beside the castle.
“What is going on?” she demanded of Jamie, the first person she recognized in the seething hive of activity within the hangar.
“There you are!” said Jamie, evidently relieved. “Follow me.” With that, Jamie dashed toward a hallway as if a Class 5 dust storm were right behind her.
After exchanging a momentary glance with Kipper, Jess took off to keep pace with Jamie.
“We’ve got to get the pair of you to the castle at once,” Jamie shouted over her shoulder. “We are in a state of emergency.”
9
En Route to New Houston, Mars
In due course, young Cavanaugh Kipling had succeeded to his father’s position, overseeing several of Squyres Station’s tellurium mines. He increased efficiencies to previously unknown levels with his murmured “reconstructions” of the truth: a word here, a story there, a simple suggestion proffered at an opportune moment. He began to despise his fellows and their reliance upon just the facts. In Cavanaugh’s estimation, “just the facts” saved neither lives nor time nor anything else worth preserving. Whereas a little reconstruction accomplished great things.
His sharp–eyed younger sister frequently caught him out on his reconstructions. She had the gall to call them lies. He smiled, patted her small head, and told her there were things she was too young to understand. She glowered and crossed her arms over her chest and held her peace until one day when she was fifteen and applying for early entrance to MCAB. Cavanaugh had offered to smooth the way for her admission.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Cassondra had snapped at him. “I’ll get in on my own merit or not at all.”
It had been the beginning of a mutual avoidance of one another between the siblings—one that had continued right until her departure for Earth as a Mars Raider. Cavanaugh had hoped to ask her to make certain discreet inquiries on Earth, but she had refused to communicate with him, repeatedly, finally sending him a message to say that she was “divorcing” him as her brother.
This did not trouble him overly much. It had become clearer with each promotion, each new acquisition, that Cavanaugh Kipling was a man set apart for a noble destiny. In the early years, he did not seek acclaim, nor was he particularly fond of the small luxuries that might be had on Mars. Rather, he sought always to increase efficiency, to instate order, to better organization. Public office seemed to him a most inefficient mea
ns for furthering such aims, so as a young man, he steered clear of politics.
Until the day that his Uncle Archibald, newly released from a ten–annums incarceration, sought him out and gave Cavanaugh a broader vision for the efficiencies that might be accomplished through the sensible application of laws and restrictions. However, noted his uncle, to impose laws and restrictions, it would be necessary to obtain a position of power on a more global scale. It would be necessary, in short, to have a political career. Cavanaugh felt as though a mist that had clouded his vision had suddenly evaporated. He could see it all so clearly now—his natural abilities, his pre–ordained destiny: one day, he would lead Mars.
And now, he was on the verge of doing so; only a few more weeks of self–promotion remained. The craft flying Archibald and Cavanaugh to Cavanaugh’s next campaign stop began its descent, angling above the ruins of Greenhouse Mars, the agricultural brain trust destroyed during the war with Earth.
Uncle Archibald put the tips of his fingers together, forming two sides of a triangle. “It’s ironic, my boy. You and I would not look forward to an accession to power, had it not been for General Bouchard’s actions down there.” He stared at the ruins, which MCC refused to clean up: “Lest We Forget.”
Cavanaugh’s mouth curled with disdain for the Terran general who had very nearly annihilated Mars Colonial during the wars. But his uncle had a point.
Bouchard’s attack on the Greenhouse Mars facility had destroyed nearly a hundred annums’ work on cultivating Mars’s stubborn soil. If Mars needed trade today—and needed Cavanaugh to lead the way—it was thanks to Bouchard.
“Good luck out there,” said his uncle. “You’ll need it.”
Adjusting his walk–out suit and his smile, Cavanaugh stepped from his craft toward an airlock leading inside New Houston’s largest building.
This crowd would be a tough sell, he knew, as he was now in the heart of Mei Lo country. But he had prepared his speech with unusual care, his reconstructions of the truth more elegant than ever. Having shed his walk–out suit, Cavanaugh stepped onto the dais at one end of the Crystal Pavilion to address the waiting crowd regarding the upcoming election.
Mars Burning (The Saving Mars Series-) Page 4