Mars Burning (The Saving Mars Series-)

by Cidney Swanson

  “You go,” said one officer to another.

  “It smells awful,” complained the other.

  “It’ll smell a lot worse in a Budapesti jail if you don’t follow orders. Get down there, now!”

  Jessamyn heard a scraping sound as the board over their heads was removed.

  “Oh, shizer! That is disgusting!” said one of the secures.

  “Captain say, is beautiful fish for you beautiful supper. You buy?”

  Jess caught the unmistakable noise of the officer overhead retching into the sea, followed by laughter that had to be coming from the crew. She had no desire to laugh. She could still smell the odor of fish even with her nose plugged. But worse than that was the constant surge of adrenaline telling her body to run, run, run while she was completely unable to move her legs.

  “Oh, honestly,” called the officer who had avoided investigating the fishy hold. “Ye gods above,” he said upon a nearer approach. “I see what you mean.” Lowering his voice, he added, “There’s a patch for motion sickness on the ship. Get yourself away from the smell and get cleaned up.”

  “Aye, sir,” came the shaky reply.

  Jess couldn’t tell if she could feel her legs now. What was that Pavel had said about pressure and danger? Her body had felt heavy like this once before, when she’d first landed on Earth.

  You will not panic, she told herself. If this were truly dangerous, Pavel wouldn’t have agreed to it. He’s almost a doctor. In any case, the real danger was walking around upstairs wearing red armor. Booted feet advanced upon them once more. And then something tickled her head. Were some of the fish still alive? Jess’s shoulders involuntarily squeezed toward her neck, or tried to, as fish shifted about her upper body.

  They’re dead, Jaarda.

  But it wasn’t the fish she had to worry about. The movement against her scalp and ears was caused by someone pushing the fish around. Jess tried to crouch lower, but she couldn’t. She was pinned in place.

  They were all trapped.

  21

  New Houston, Mars

  It took Mei Lo three days to respond to Daschle Crustegard’s request for a visit. Or rather, it took three days for the proposed visit to occur. Three times, Mei Lo placed the visit as a high priority on her scheduling wafer, and three times it was mysteriously deleted.

  Mei Lo considered firing her scheduling secretary, but her father’s words echoing in her head convinced her otherwise: Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer. Someone didn’t want her talking to Crusty. Until she knew if the someone was her secretary or someone who’d hacked her secretary’s access codes, it was best to draw no attention to it.

  Toward the conclusion of the third day, Mei Lo announced she was taking the afternoon off to attend to personal matters. When the newsfeeds speculated as to health problems, the Secretary rolled her eyes. Lately, her health—or supposed lack of health—was planetary news, thanks to another little mole hiding somewhere in her offices.

  The Secretary’s event planner caught her as she was approaching an airlock.

  “Madam Secretary,” called Nessa Niedermaier, “If you have a moment?”

  “Yes?”

  “I wondered if we might schedule that overdue haircut? Informal polling suggests—”

  Mei Lo held up a hand. “Yes. Fine.” She knew exactly what informal polling had to say about her hairstyle. She didn’t need to hear it twice. “Talk to my scheduling secretary.”

  “Perfect. In fact, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about another item on your schedule?”

  “Make it quick,” said the Secretary, eyeing the time.

  “You’ve had visits to Daschle Crustegard on your schedule, and I wanted to suggest now might not be the best time for you to be seen fraternizing with a known—”

  Mei Lo froze Nessa with a icy stare.

  “That is,” said Nessa, her eyes darting nervously, “It’s just that with the vote approaching…I thought…I removed those appointments so we could discuss how such a visit might look.”

  “I am not concerned with how it might look,” replied the Secretary coolly. “I will visit whom I wish when I wish. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, Madam Secretary.”

  Mei Lo turned to go, but something tugged at her conscience and she found herself spinning back to face Nessa. “I know you mean well. I apologize for my tone. I appreciate the work you are doing on my behalf.”

  Nessa nodded and the Secretary entered the airlock.

  As she donned her walk–out suit, Mei Lo gave herself a mental shake for having worried about dubious intent on the part of her scheduling secretary.

  “You’re losing it,” she said softly. She was seeing conspiracy everywhere. When had that ever been a part of what it meant to be Mei Lo? She vowed to exert her mental energy in more positive directions.

  Such as offering comfort to an imprisoned friend.

  When she arrived at New Houston’s incarceration facility, she was admitted by a surprised–looking security guard. “I heard you weren’t feeling—”

  “I’m just fine,” snapped the Secretary, cutting off the guard’s query. “I’m here to see Mr. Crustegard. In his cell. Alone.”

  “Right away, Secretary. It’s not how we usually operate, of course.”

  The Secretary glared at him.

  “But in your case…” The guard trailed off.

  “Can I assume my conversation will be private? I’ll be double–checking.” Here the Secretary raised a handheld wafer used to detect the presence of recording and transmitting devices.

  “Of course, Madam Secretary,” said the guard, sounding offended.

  She was led to Crusty’s quarters, where the first thing she noted was an odd odor. She sniffed the air, turned to the security officer, and murmured a quick, “Is there a problem with waste management here?”

  “No, ma’am,” replied the officer. “That would be Mr. Crustegard’s civil contribution project.”

  Mei Lo nodded. Apparently Crusty had chosen to use his mandatory hours of public service doing something besides fixing engines and motors.

  Once the guard left them alone, Mei Lo approached Crusty, her nose wrinkled, her hand extended.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” said Crusty. He started to put a hand forward, stared at the dirt under his nails, and withdrew the hand. “I won’t be offerin’ to shake just now, seein’ as how, well…” He didn’t finish with words, instead holding up his grimy hands to speak for him.

  “Not a problem, Crusty,” said Mei Lo. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to see you. A well–intentioned person in my office disapproved of my visit.”

  Crusty nodded. “Reckon that’s to be expected. There’s folk as don’t want you and me seein’ too much of each other. On both sides of the election fence. My reputation ain’t what it was, ma’am.”

  Mei Lo made an irritated tsk sound. “I don’t think you can do any damage to my standing at present. I’m going down in the polls a bit more each day, my friend.”

  “Well, then, thanks all the more for comin’ by,” he said. “Thought you oughta see what I been up to here.” He gestured for her to follow him to an area of his small enclosure which was devoted to the growing of various species of plants.

  The smell was strongest in this location, Mei Lo noted.

  “Impressive,” was all she said.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Plants’ve always been something of a special interest for me. Reckon I could’ve done okay over at Planetary Ag if I hadn’t took up with fixing machines.”

  Mei Lo smiled. “I’m sure you could have.” Privately she wondered if Planetary Ag might’ve enjoyed significant advances had Daschle Crustegard thrown in his lot with the green thumbs instead of the grease monkeys.

  Mei Lo leaned in to observe what looked like a flower, of all things. “Is this…”

  Crusty finished her sentence. “It’s an orchid, ma’am. Took a cutting right before I sent the original into space with J
ess.” He scratched his chin. “Wonder if she kept the durned thing alive.”

  “You’re watering ornamental species?” asked Mei Lo, confused. “I’m only CEO, but that sounds suspiciously illegal to me.”

  “It ain’t purely decorative,” said Crusty. “You can eat it, flower, pseudobulb, and all. So it’s all above–board as far as the law’s concerned.”

  “I see.”

  “But that ain’t what I wanted to have you take a look at. Over here, ma’am. Take a look at the algae I got growin’ here.”

  Mei Lo moved away from the orchid to examine a series of algae pots. They looked quite different from the ones she herself kept as part of the Household Algae Pot Program.

  “Yours back home look like what I got in my humble abode?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied. “My original pots died. The replacements don’t look great, either. Planetary Ag is recommending we pull the program entirely.”

  “I heard as much. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with the program, ma’am. Not as such.” He raised his eyebrows significantly.

  “I’m sorry, Crusty. You’ve lost me.”

  “I think we’re lookin’ at a saboteur over at Planetary Ag.”

  “That sounds extreme,” said Mei Lo, recalling her earlier paranoia with considerable embarrassment.

  “I want to talk to Doctor Lillian Jaarda about it.” Crusty shoved his hands in his pocket. “But they won’t let her in on account of her bein’ Jessamyn’s mom and all.”

  “I see. And you want me, as Secretary General, to grant the access.”

  Crusty nodded.

  “Crusty, I’m sorry, but I’m going to take a bit more convincing here. Your conspiracy theory isn’t compelling for reasons I would have thought obvious.”

  Crusty grunted.

  Mei Lo continued. “No one devotes themselves to a life of botany if they don’t love plants. What would motivate someone at Planetary Ag to sabotage the Household Algae Pot Program?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. That’s why I’d like to speak with Lillian. Er, Dr. Jaarda. I mean, you said it yourself: they’re about to pull the Algae Pot Program on account of the plants dyin’. Well, mine ain’t dyin’.”

  “Crusty, I’m sorry, but that’s not an adequate reason to suspect sabotage at Planetary Ag. And I won’t have you filling Lillian’s mind with unfounded worries. The poor woman’s experienced more setbacks and tragedy in the past few months than most of us have to contend with in a lifetime.”

  Crusty nodded. “I thought you might say as much. I got another good reason to consult with her, too.”

  Mei Lo raised her eyebrows, inviting him to spell out his reason.

  “I been eating nothin’ but algae for the past month, ma’am.”

  “You mean, on top of ration bars?”

  “No, ma’am. I trade my ration bars for extra wet–rations for the plants. Hmm. Probably oughtn’t to have told you that. Pretty sure it’s illegal.” Crusty looked down at his shoes.

  “Crusty, you mean to tell me you are surviving on a diet of algae?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It ain’t what you’d call tasty, and I don’t have my usual energy, but it’s keeping me alive.”

  Mei Lo frowned and the room was silent for a full minute.

  “Lillian should know about this,” the Secretary said at last.

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s what I was thinkin’, ma’am.”

  “I’ll set up a meeting. But I beg of you, leave out the conspiracy theories. Lillian is…well, Crusty, she’s fragile right now, what with both her kids missing and her algae program about to lose funding.”

  “Aphrodite’s knickers, ma’am, I wouldn’t do nothin’ to make her situation worse than it already is. If you think I should leave that part out, I promise I won’t bring it up.”

  “I insist,” said Mei Lo. “I’ll authorize a visit right away. And I want your health evaluated by a physician. A month of nothing but algae? Holy Ares, Crusty, what were you thinking?”

  “I’ll ask Lillian to recommend a physician, if that suits you.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  After she’d said goodbye to Crusty, the Secretary General remembered something. It seemed a tiny something, but like most tiny somethings, it was probably worth further investigation.

  When she arrived back in her office, she spoke to one of her assistants.

  “I want every record we’ve got on Archibald Kipling’s arrest fifteen or so annums ago on my desk in the next half hour.”

  22

  The Atlantic Ocean, Earth

  Jessamyn held as still as she could, willing her bright hair to not give them all away. She should have procured a hat—something fish–colored. Anything but the fiery red upon her scalp. The weight of fish pressed on her from all sides, and now she was certain all feeling had left her fingers. Her heart pounded fiercely—perhaps that would be enough to keep blood circulating to her extremities. And then she heard the words she’d been praying for.

  “Sir, we’re wanted to investigate a passenger ferry.” It was the voice of the officer who’d been sick.

  “In a minute,” replied the nearby officer, still digging through the pile of fish atop Jessamyn’s head.

  “Sir, the orders come directly from Wu. All secures on the island’s north side are to head to the port at once.”

  Jess heard an extended sigh.

  “Nothing here but the stink of fish anyway,” muttered the commanding officer.

  “Yes, stink fish! Good fish!” called one of the fishermen. “Good price for you today!”

  Footsteps, retreating, sounded overhead. Jessamyn took a shuddering breath through her oxygen supply and then counted to one hundred before she heard the sound of a departing craft. The relief flooding through her would have been more enjoyable if she could be certain she still had toes beneath the weight of ten cubic meters of fish.

  Strong arms hoisted her from her slimy hideout. She spit out the oxygenator, breathing deep gulps of fresh sea air.

  As soon as Pavel was pulled free, she wrapped her arms around him tightly.

  “I am never eating fish again as long as I live,” he murmured to her. “Ugh, I’m sorry, but you smell awful.”

  “Likewise, fish–boy,” retorted Jess.

  “Lucky we had a decent catch this morning,” said one of the crew, winking at Jess as they hauled Zussman free.

  “Lucky we weren’t under longer,” said Pavel.

  His comment was punctuated by Zussman losing the contents of his stomach over the boat’s edge. A moment later, Zussman begged leave to apologize.

  Pavel laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you do it, man, but you even barf with dignity.”

  When darkness came, it fell swiftly upon the ocean, with no city lights for a hundred kilometers or more. Jessamyn settled beside Pavel, still convinced that he smelled worse of fish than she did.

  The fishing boat motored onward through the night, toward the point upon the heaving Atlantic where, according to Ethan, the seven fugitives would cross paths with the freighter willing to take them aboard for a sum Cameron Wallace had been unwilling to disclose.

  “You can bet it was a lot,” had been Pavel’s only comment, spoken with a shaking of his head as he settled to sleep at Jessamyn’s side.

  They were beyond reckoning now, the Mars Raiders, in the vastness of their debt to friends on Earth, thought Jess. Their debt was as immeasurable as the surrounding sea.

  She groaned softly as she shifted her weight. Her spine protested against the unyielding surface of the rocking boat, each plunge and surge creating a unique and exquisite pain. At this point, she was only taking stress from one set of bones and applying it to another. She felt certain bruises were setting in by now. And still the boat pushed forward, dip and rise, dip and rise.

  Pavel stirred beside her, murmuring unintelligibly. At least one of them was getting some sleep. Jess turned her head so she could see the heavens, blacker than ink but lit
with diamond–fire. This same fire was caught and thrown back by the sea, creating a solemn glow when she turned her eyes to the edges of the world, now demarcated by the boat’s rising and falling gunwales.

  At last her lids grew heavy and she slept.

  “Jess.” A quiet whisper. “Jess?” Enough of a murmur to contain inflection.

  “Mmm?” she intoned, her eyes still closed.

  “You should see the sky.”

  It was Pavel. Pavel was awake. Was she awake as well? She felt the ship’s motor humming through the floor on which she rested. It was so very soothing. Her eyes remained closed.

  “Jess?”

  “I’m awake,” she said, though her speech slurred with sleep. She tried to open her eyes, but her pupils complained; the light was too bright, and her eyes clamped shut again. Was it day already? Squinting through the smallest slit possible, Jess shifted to lean as much of herself into Pavel—soft, warm Pavel—as she could.

  “Mmm,” she murmured, turning her face into his shirt. The scent of desert—sand and juniper—clung to him. But then she realized the scent of the desert was from a fading dream. Here, all smelled of fish and saltwater.

  Most especially, Pavel smelled of fish and saltwater. Jessamyn’s nose crinkled in distaste. She wanted her dream back.

  ““Look up,” whispered Pavel.

  “Too bright,” she protested.

  “Look down, first. Let your eyes adjust. It’s worth it, I promise.”

  She opened her eyes once more, rubbing out what her dad called “sleep dust” where her lashes clung to one another. Examining her feet, she concluded it was, indeed, still night. So why had her eyes hurt when she’d tried to look up? Slowly, she tipped her head back.

  The Terran moon, or two–thirds of it, anyway, hung above them as though suspended just beyond reach. It glowed a fierce white, the craters standing out in sharp relief. It didn’t look real.

  “Is that what the big Mars moon looks like?” asked Pavel. “The shape’s about like that, isn’t it?”

  Jess made a small noise of derision. “Phobos is smaller than your moon. A lot smaller. It also has the distinction of being one of the least reflective surfaces in the universe.”