Book Six in the Saving Mars Series
Cidney Swanson
For Deb and Nathan
Copyright © 2014 by Cidney Swanson
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © by Stephanie Mooney. All rights reserved.
ISBN 978–1–939543–19–6
1
DARK SIDE OF THE MOON
Yevgeny made his way toward the dark side of the moon. He’d promised his friends—his family—that he would keep himself safe. Pavel had hugged him. Called him the best uncle ever. A smile flitted across the Ghost’s face.
He’d furnished a small base on the Moon’s far side for those times when he didn’t feel like having Earth in view. In the past, such times occurred when Sister did something which made him angry. Or sad. Or both. Putting Earth out of his view on the moon’s far side had been analogous to putting Sister out of view.
But Earth meant something more than just Sister now. Yevgeny brought his cycler to a standstill and did some hard thinking. After several minutes, he concluded he didn’t want to go to the so-called dark side of the Moon. He felt something deep inside, tugging, pulling, insisting that he return to Tranquility Base, where he could gaze unimpeded at Earth, blue and luminous. Slowly, he wheeled his vehicle back around.
The tugging feeling was new. It wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t imaginary, either. Something inside hurt. It took several kilometers for Yevgeny to remember where and when and why he’d felt the hurt before.
Of course.
Isobel.
This was loneliness.
The Ghost was alone once more.
2
A SUCCESSFUL LAUNCH
Jessamyn sank into a couch opposite the plain white background where she’d recorded the greatest reveal in Mars Colonial’s over three hundred year history: We are here.
Or rather, they are there, thought Jess. Because she definitely wasn’t on Mars anymore.
“Did you get what you needed that time?” she asked Pavel.
Pavel, consulting with Zussman over the recording, took a minute to respond.
“Looks good from here,” he said at last. “Eth? What’s your take?”
“I have removed all extraneous sound that might provide clues as to our location,” said Jessamyn’s brother. “I concur with your assessment: the recording is ready.”
As per the Secretary General and CEO of Mars Colonial, the Raiders had the authority to take “extraordinary measures deemed necessary for the preservation of Mars Colonial, her citizens, or the lives of the Mars Raiders.” The vid recorded by Jessamyn was just that: an extraordinary measure. And it was ready to be broadcast.
But was Jess ready? Ready to reveal to the people of Earth that the Mars colony had not only survived after the signing of the No Contact Accords, but that the colony was doing just fine as an independent world, thanks very much?
Well, fine if you didn’t take into consideration the ships heading to Mars under the orders of the Terran Chancellor Lucca Brezhnaya. Ships charged with destroying all life on the planet. One Marsian had already given her life to make sure more wouldn’t have to.
Kipper.
A sharp sting. A taste like metal. A flash of white-hot anger. Jessamyn’s nails dug into her palms. She was ready to send the vid out to the Terran world. There was no more fitting way to honor the sacrifice of her captain, who had given up her life to crash into and destroy Vladim Wu’s ship. Kipper was the one who told Jessamyn to speak out to the Terran people. Although, contrary to Kip’s dying request, this first vid revealed nothing about Lucca’s attack. Mr. Zussman had warned against it.
It would be best if Terrans first warm up to you, and to the idea of a Marsian population, he had advised.
Which meant Jess would be recording more than just this first vid. On the whole, she’d rather fly straight into a class five dust storm back home than face another day like today. Unfortunately, no one was offering to save life on Mars in exchange for such an offer.
“After we release this vid, how long until we tell everyone about the planned strike?” asked Jessamyn.
“We play it by ear,” said Pavel.
“We go with our gut,” said Ethan, a small smile brushing across his face.
Jess turned to her brother with one brow raised. She would have placed water creds on her brother’s never having gone with his gut in his life.
“If I might make a suggestion, perhaps we ought to assess the impact of your first announcement prior to making that decision,” said Mr. Zussman.
“Right, then.” Jess shoved her fists into her pockets. “Let’s get this recording out there where it can do some good.”
“Ah, yes, miss,” said Mr. Zussman. It was his typical preamble to stating a disagreement with someone. “If I might just suggest waiting until morning in Budapest? To allow the recording to have the greatest initial impact?”
Something shifted uncomfortably in Jessamyn’s stomach. She wanted this thing done. Waiting meant the possibility that something tomorrow would prevent their taking this vital step. Waiting meant a night reconsidering her old fears about telling Earth the truth in the first place. Her fears of revealing Mars to the people who’d bombed Greenhouse Mars, destroyed Mars’s orbital mirrors, fired on Mars with lasers.
“Will it make that much difference?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, miss,” replied the butler. “A successful launch will make all the difference.”
“Fine,” she said, her lips pursing.
It was going to be a long night.
3
ALL THAT GRAVITY
Back at Tranquility Base once more, Yevgeny found that he missed his friends more than ever. It was the trade-off, he supposed, for having formed friendships. There had been a time when he’d missed Sister; it had passed, eventually. But Yevgeny didn’t want this new loneliness to pass. He didn’t want his memories of meals shared to fade. On the other hand, he definitely didn’t want to return to Earth.
“All that gravity,” he muttered to himself. “All those people.”
No, what he wanted was simply to talk to his friends. But in the haste of getting them safely off the Moon, no one had thought about future comms. Yevgeny had the best equipment in the world, (or rather, beyond it,) but he didn’t know where his friends were. Which meant he couldn’t comm them.
The ache in his chest intensified.
He missed them. They had become his family. His only family, now he’d privately disowned Sister. Maybe he should comm Jumble. The retired spacer might know where Jess, Pavel, Ethan, and Zussman could be found. Of course, Jumble had a bad habit of going dark for weeks at a time. But it was better than just sitting and … aching.
Yevgeny sent a comm to Jumble, reminding himself to regulate his expectations. It might be a month before Jumble checked for messages.
There was no response the first day. Or the second. This was how his friends must have felt, waiting for the window of opportunity that would allow them to comm Mars.
And then the Ghost had a thought.
“Oh, my,” he said. “That would work, wouldn’t it?”
The idea was not for his own benefit. Rather, it would benefit his friends. He regretted that he had not thought of this idea sooner, while his friends had been on the Moon. It would have pleased them immensely. Well, he could get things rolling now and have good news for them when, at last
, they responded.
“But you really ought to have thought of this sooner,” he muttered to himself.
Of course, it might not work. He hadn’t paid a call to New Terra Space Station since … well, since he’d been accessory to the murder of Pavel’s parents.
4
PART OF THE BENEFITS PACKAGE
Lucca Brezhnaya had been putting in exceptionally long hours. In seventeen distinct time zones within the past week. She’d kissed more babies, smiled beside more schoolchildren, and held the hands of more invalids than had any civil servant in the past hundred years.
And she would know.
The New Timbuktu prison fiasco had been managed to her satisfaction: No, I had no idea of the injustices perpetrated there. The intended use of the re-educational facility was to provide an alternative to harsher corrective facilities for those who had served as government employees—a part of the benefits package, as it were, for those who unfortunately broke the laws they were employed to uphold.
When asked why taxpayers should have to pay for a resort-jail for government employees, Lucca cleverly replied the facility had been self-supporting, through the work residents did in processing gold and other precious minerals. Records were examined, and the records declared the Chancellor had, indeed, abused no government funds to run the facility. It was shut down in deference to the wishes of her people: I will always hold myself as responsible first to those constituents who placed me in the position I hold today.
Lucca had kept very busy, indeed, with ensuring her reputation its well-deserved fighting chance. She smiled at her lovely reflection prior to her next appearance in parliament.
Of course, had it proven to be impossible to resurrect her character, phoenix-like from the ashes of her enemies’ attacks, well, she had other avenues to pursue. Lucca always had more than one escape route, always packed more than one parachute. Because sometimes, in spite of doing your best in seventeen different time zones, you needed a contingency plan.
She wouldn’t dream of leaving home without one.
5
DR. SEUSS OR P. D. EASTMAN?
In her New Houston office, the Secretary General and CEO of Mars Colonial was deep in conversation. The fact that her conversation was with the planetary dog would have raised more than a few eyebrows, had anyone else been in the room.
Mei Lo herself didn’t give it a second thought. Rover had been the initial recipient of many ideas, the faithful listener to many rants, the steady companion whose intelligent gaze seemed to invite conversation.
But Rover was done listening for now. Ambling to the wet rations dispenser, the dog whimpered. Mei Lo’s heart pinched. Rover, along with everyone else on the planet, had been asked to reduce wet rations by 7%, the precise amount determined to be possible without causing widespread loss of health.
“Oh, all right then,” sighed the Secretary. “You can have mine. But don’t tell anyone, okay?”
Her comm buzzed.
“Yes?” she said.
“Will you be wanting to cancel your 16:00 today, Secretary?” asked a disembodied voice.
Veronica, the new assistant was called. She’d been sent over from a previous position at MCAB where she had protected access to the Academic Dean with a ferocity that was legendary. The Academy was all but closed down these days, the students and faculty assigned to bring a variety of systems damaged by the Terran lasers back to full working order.
Mei Lo wasn’t certain she liked having an “access manager,” a human barrier between herself and the rest of Mars. But Veronica was excellent at deciding which things needed the Secretary’s attention and which could be delegated.
“Remind me what I have going on?” asked Mei Lo. She hoped it was something she could reschedule. She felt more worn out than last year’s ration wrappers.
“Story time? At the library? I’m sure they’ll understand if you need to cancel.”
Rover tilted his head to one side. He knew the words “story time.”
Mei Lo thought she heard a hint of judgment in Veronica’s usually neutral tone. Veronica would understand if the Secretary General needed to cancel. The library would understand. The parents would understand.
But not the kids.
Rover made a soft sound between a growl and a whine, holding Mei Lo’s gaze.
“You’re right, boy. Always right, aren’t you?” She gave him a scratch under the chin where he liked it best.
“Madam Secretary? Shall I cancel for you?”
“No, I’m going. Please confirm the appointment with them.”
“Very well.” Veronica’s voice cut off abruptly.
Mei Lo rose and stretched. “You coming with me, boy? You want Dr. Seuss or P. D. Eastman today?”
Rover stood, wagged his tail vigorously, and barked once.
Mei Lo chuckled.
Three years ago, when she’d first begun volunteering as a story time reader at the library, she’d been mortified to discover that years of speech-making had left her rather bad at reading aloud. So she’d tackled the fault the same way she would have any other problem: she’d practiced. At home, with Rover as her audience. Early on, Rover had indicated a preference for rhythmic texts, and Dr. Seuss books were generally his favorite.
The planetary dog was always a welcome addition to story time, but Mei Lo tried to limit the times she brought him, in fairness to children who lived too far away for more than an annual birthday visit. Favoritism was not the Marsian way.
From a temperature and humidity controlled vault in her office, Mei Lo grabbed two ancient paper copies of Rover’s favorites, Go, Dog. Go! and Horton Hears a Who!. The books had been handed down in her family through eight generations at least, and Mei Lo intended upon her death to leave them to the library.
After running her fingers across the faded cover of Go, Dog. Go!, the Secretary crossed to the door. “Come on, boy, let’s go.”
As Mei Lo opened her door, Veronica burst inside and the two nearly collided.
“Madam Secretary,” said Veronica, breathless, “We’ve received a comm from Earth. You’ll want to hear this for yourself.”
6
BLOOD KIN
A howling wind whipped the flags flying half-mast over Castle Wallace. It was unseasonably bad weather, and Lady Wallace took it as a sign that even the natural world mourned the passing of her fourth cousin, four times removed, Cassondra Kipling. Words of praise had been spoken, and Cameron had kept her eyes dry. A gallery of pictures had been displayed, and Cameron had not cried. But, upon hearing her piper play the first six notes of Amazing Grace, Lady Wallace burst into indecorous tears.
“Silly of me,” she murmured to Jamie at her side. “Ridiculous. Last thing a child of Mars would’ve wanted, me wasting water at her memorial.” But large tears streamed down her face regardless. It was at times like this Cameron missed Mr. Zussman most. He would have had an absorption lozenge—or, more likely, a handkerchief—at the ready.
First, the piper played the melody through by himself. Upon reaching the conclusion, he was joined by eight other pipers and Cameron’s lone drummer. The music swelled: ancient, heroic, hopeful. It rumbled through her breastbone and made her proud to be a Scot. Proud, too, to be blood kin of the house of Kipling, however many generations stood between them.
As the one final lingering note was carried out to sea upon the wind, Cameron fingered the data strip containing Kip’s final message to Mars. How was she going to deliver the message intended for Mars’s CEO and Secretary General? She no longer had functional satellite relays. but she had an obligation; last words were sacred. What a jumbled mess, she thought, sighing. And then an idea presented itself.
“Mr. Zussman’s friend,” she muttered under her breath. “Jumble.”
“Pardon?” asked Jamie, turning to her chief.
Cameron just shook her head. “Merely thinking aloud. Forgive an old woman.”
The leader of Clan Wallace returned to the castle, intent upon con
tacting Jumble. Zussman had left the contact information of this friend in the event of, how had Zussman put it? Dire events where you require the assistance of someone with spacer connections. If anyone could work out how to send a message to Mars, it would be someone with spacer connections.
7
A RATHER BLEAK PLACE TO LIVE
The Ghost had succeeded in “waking up” the communications system on the New Terra Space Station. Now, he reasoned, he ought to be able to bounce a comm from Tranquility to New Terra and then from New Terra to Mars. It was similar to something Ethan had tried (unsuccessfully) with Station 92-AE. But 92-AE’s deep space dish had been heavily damaged, dooming Ethan’s attempt to failure.
The Ghost was in a bit of a muddle as to what he ought to send to Mars. Should he tell those on Mars about Sister’s attack? He didn’t think it was his place to tell them. In less than a week, they would hear of it by means of Ethan’s automated message. It wasn’t the sort of message to be delivered by a stranger. Even if the stranger was a friend of their friends.
Besides, if he told them himself, they would almost certainly wish to engage in an extended conversation. Yevgeny didn’t think he was up to that. No, clearly, the thing to be done was to first establish that comms could be sent this way. And then, next week, Mars Colonial would hear the news about the attack from one of their own Raiders. Hopefully, by that time, Jumble would respond and Yevgeny could speak with his friends, giving them the good news about the new method for contacting their home world.
Yes, that was an altogether less stressful and therefore more satisfying way of managing things.
But if he wasn’t going to attempt to engage the Marsians in conversation, what would it be best to send to them? Any sort of greeting would invite conversation. So, no greetings. The Ghost frowned and stared at the communications panel in front of him. And there it was. He would do precisely what he already did for Terran spacers: he would supply Mars with free entertainment. Of a sort calculated to interest them, naturally. This had the additional benefit of being considerably less risky than sending original communications. None of Sister’s employees would have the time or inclination to pay heed to a handful of vids being rebroadcast toward the red planet.
Mars Rising (Saving Mars Series 6) Page 1