Striking Mars (The Saving Mars Series-5)

by Cidney Swanson

  “Hey,” said Pavel. “I don’t want you to change. I love you, Jess. Not Harpreet. Not you pretending to be someone else. You.”

  Jess released a small laugh.

  “So what was all that about making a life with me?” asked Pavel. “’Cause it sure sounded like it might have been a marriage proposal in disguise.” Pavel leaned in close, his lips not quite brushing hers, daring her to close the divide.

  “That would have been the most awkwardly disguised proposal in the history of proposals,” she murmured, her breath combining with his.

  “Was it?” he asked. His breath warmed her cheeks, her chin; his lips hovered close, so very close.

  “No,” she admitted, her voice less than a whisper.

  He closed the half-centimeter dividing them. His lips were soft on hers. Warm. An electric pulse hummed through her body.

  “Come on, Jess, marry me.”

  “Not now,” she said. Then she kissed him hungrily, her hand grazing his neck where his pulse throbbed.

  After a moment, Pavel pulled back, unwinding his hands from her hair. Smoothing it back into place. “Can’t blame me for asking,” he murmured.

  Jessamyn sighed. “I never do.”

  His hand skimmed the small of her back where her shirt had come untucked.

  “Let’s take this to the couch,” Pavel said softly.

  “Mmm.” Jess was tired of feeling angry or frustrated or imperfect. Pavel’s hand on her back was warm. She just wanted to feel him beside her until the Moon’s chill receded like a bad dream.

  They turned toward the room with the couch. But just then, the Ghost appeared as a blur at the end of the corridor.

  “Come look,” he said, panting for breath. “Come see this.”

  25

  New Houston, Mars

  One of Mei Lo’s assistants pushed her head through a tiny opening in the office door.

  “I know you said no disturbances,” said the assistant.

  Mei Lo looked up from a speech she was composing.

  “No disturbances means, what, exactly, to you?” asked Mei Lo, drily.

  “It’s Daschle Crustegard.”

  “Oh,” said the Secretary, surprised. “Oh, I see. Show him in. Show him in right away.”

  Crusty had not taken the time to change out of his mechanic’s coveralls. He probably never did, thought Mei Lo, a smile curving on one side of her face. He was the consummate applied engineer.

  “Crusty, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She stood, pushing her work to one side to indicate he had her undivided attention.

  “Well, ma’am, I had an idea. It’s not conventional.” Crusty laughed gruffly. “It’s about as far from conventional as you can get and still be in the solar system.”

  “Conventional’s overrated,” said the Secretary. “You can quote me on that.”

  “Don’t know as I’d ever have the occasion, ma’am.”

  “I’m joking. Enlighten me. What are we talking about here?”

  “You told me about that fracas between you and the generals and the Planetary Resources Council.”

  Mei Lo made a derisive noise. “I grossly overestimated the ability of the parties in question to speak the same language.”

  “I reckon that’s a fair summary. Conflicts of interest between ‘em. They all admire you, though.”

  “At least I didn’t throw anything,” said Mei Lo. “Although I was tempted to.”

  “What would you say if I told you I knew of a group of pilots that might fit the bill for offering us a bit of cover if that mean old Chancellor ever decided to come callin’?”

  “I’d say I’ve got pilots already. It’s ships we don’t have, Crusty. The Dawn, the Galleon, they’re not coming back.”

  “Pardon, ma’am. I misspoke. These pilots have ships. They ain’t big Mars-class ships, mind.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You heard of Ursa Station?”

  The name sounded familiar. Ursa Station residents had made a couple of contributions to the “Reduce Consumption” lists.

  “They remember you from your visit after the Rations Storage Facility fire,” said Crusty.

  “After the fire?” Mei Lo frowned. “Oh, yes, I remember Ursa Station. They were the ones who refused to accept emergency rations. I wasted water in front of them. I’m sure that was memorable.” It was embarrassing to recall. She shook her head.

  “Yeah, they still talk about that,” said Crusty.

  “Wait a minute, aren’t they the ones who suggested hibernation as a way of getting through the current crisis in resource management?”

  “Likely they did,” said Crusty, “although I must’ve missed that one. Some of them mining stations suggest pretty crazy stuff.” He chuckled softly.

  “Like hibernation,” said Mei Lo.

  Crusty’s expression sobered. “That suggestion came from a practice they employ year round. They didn’t need the emergency rations on account of they eat less but also on account of twenty-five percent of ‘em hibernate at any given time. Kind of like you and me might rotate shifts at a ’round-the-clock factory. Not that you’d ever work in a factory, ma’am.”

  Mei Lo made a tsk noise. “I worked several factory positions before entering the political arena.”

  “Did you, now?”

  “Back to the hibernators. The entire station participates?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’ll recollect how, in Mars’s early years, they experimented with having pilots hibernate through the journey between the two planets?”

  “That program was canned after a crew failed to awaken for entry, descent, and landing.”

  “It were. But these folks’ve made good use of the biotechnology developed back then.”

  “Holy Ares,” said Mei Lo. “The things I don’t know about this planet and its inhabitants never cease to amaze me.”

  “They’re quiet about it, ma’am. But like I say, they remember how you was there with rations and how you shed water on their account, and you’ve got quite a support base down at Ursa Station.”

  “And these are where the pilots with ships come from?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied Crusty. “You see, they’re independent cusses, to a person. For a century of annums, they’ve been prepared should MCC ever be unable to complete a Raiding Mission.”

  Mei Lo’s brows rose dramatically. “Prepared how?”

  “With ships and pilots to fly ‘em,” replied Crusty. “The ships are small, which means they launch slower than an M-class. That’s where the hibernating comes in handy. It’s a long crossing. But they could make the crossing, according to every calculation I’ve run. But much more to the point, should Earth send ships our direction, Ursa Station is prepared to send up a little welcoming committee.”

  Mei Lo sank into the chair behind her desk. “It’s illegal, what they’re doing.”

  “Hibernating ain’t illegal, ma’am. Strange as strange, but no laws broken.”

  “No,” said Mei Lo, irritated. “Maintaining a secret militia is illegal.”

  “Well, it weren’t intended as a militia, ma’am. They intended to ensure someone could always get to Earth for food if it ever came down to it.”

  “But you said they’re ready to go out and take on armed Terran vessels. Which is it? Are they paramilitary or aren’t they?”

  “Ten of ‘em are Academy-trained pilots, ma’am. As to what training they might’ve engaged in on their own, well, no one’s disclosed anything of that nature to me, ma’am. As you say, it would be illegal.”

  The Secretary General exhaled, a heavy, sighing breath. “This will have to be handled with extreme delicacy.”

  Crusty chuckled. “That’s why they sent me to you, ma’am. You’re about the best diplomat Mars has ever known.”

  Mei Lo grunted. “I should have left you in that jail cell.”

  “I’m mighty pleased you didn’t, ma’am,” said Crusty, grinning ear-to-ear. “Now then, what shall I te
ll the good citizens of Ursa Station?”

  “Tell them we could always use a few pilots prepared for war,” said Mei Lo.

  26

  Tranquility Base, the Terran Moon

  Jessamyn and Pavel followed the Ghost down a narrow corridor to see whatever it was he said they had to see now. On the way, Pavel managed to wrangle from the Ghost that the something they had to see did not pose an immediate, violent threat to their existence.

  “You can’t say stuff like that, man,” said Pavel. “I thought Lucca was here.”

  Jessamyn regarded the Ghost with her eyes narrowed, checking for the anger she’d felt earlier, but it had dissipated. Now she saw only a tired man with eyes reddened from tears.

  “So what is it, Yevgeny?” she asked, her tone softer than she would have thought possible an hour ago.

  “Your friends down on Earth have been busy,” replied the Ghost, bringing up a holoscreen that covered one wall of his room. “This vid is getting views like nothing I’ve seen in my last two threebodies. Is your brother sleeping?” The last question was directed to Jessamyn.

  “Yes,” she replied. “He and Zussman are off-duty for another couple hours.”

  The Ghost looked disappointed. “Well, I suppose they can watch it later. It’s quite remarkable.” With that, the Ghost gave a verbal signal to the holoscreen to play.

  Pavel, the Ghost, and Jessamyn watched as a person whose appearance had been distorted for the vid related his experience as an employee of the Chancellor. The vid, titled “Who is the Real Lucca Brezhnaya?” painted a bleak picture of accepting employment from the Terran Chancellor.

  “It sounded like a dream job,” said the speaker. “A solid career that would result in re-body credits, financial bonuses, the whole fantasy. But it was more of a living nightmare.”

  Jess murmured to Pavel, “This should be good.”

  “The really terrifying part of working for someone like Chancellor Brezhnaya is that almost from the first week, you begin to hear tales of internment and rehabilitation. At first you think it’s a joke. Like, some sort of ‘haze the new guy’ game. But then, you hear that someone in the next department over has simply … disappeared.”

  The vid cut to images of Lucca at ribbon-cutting ceremonies, at gala benefits, always elegantly dressed and perfectly coiffed, and then the original speaker reappeared, looking puzzled. “It makes you wonder: who’s the real Chancellor Brezhnaya?”

  “Now, that is where the solid waste hits the recirculation paddles,” muttered the Ghost, nodding sagely.

  “And it makes you think twice about crossing her, I can tell you,” continued the employee on the holoscreen.

  The vid was short, compelling in its honesty, and utterly damning of Lucca Brezhnaya’s carefully cultivated reputation as a fair-handed and forward-thinking civil servant.

  “Remind me not to get on Harpreet’s bad side,” said Pavel to Jessamyn as the screen flickered and disappeared.

  “I tried to trace the communication back to its source,” said the Ghost.

  Jessamyn looked up in alarm. “Were you successful?”

  The Ghost shook his head. “It proved to be impossible. I don’t know what kind of encryption your friends are running, but I will say I am impressed.”

  Jessamyn’s shoulders relaxed. “That would be my brother giving them tips.”

  Pavel reengaged the vid at the point where the speaker asked who the real Chancellor was, watching it through to the end once more. “Well, it’s like you said, Yevgeny: the waste has definitely collided with the fan. I wonder how long it takes Lucca to shut it down.”

  The Ghost made his odd snickering noise. “Oh, she’s trying. Believe me, Sister is very, very angry about this. But by the time her team shuts down one feed, ten re-feeds have popped up elsewhere.”

  Jessamyn stared at the look of amusement altering the usually gloomy contours of the Ghost’s face. “You’re really okay with your sister being portrayed like this?”

  The look of amusement vanished from the Ghost’s visage.

  Pavel glared at Jess. She felt her cheeks flaring with heat. She shouldn’t have said anything.

  The Ghost’s brows furrowed and straightened and then furrowed more deeply, his face falling into familiar saddened lines.

  “I am a bad person,” he said softly. “Only a wretch would take delight in the downfall of a sibling.”

  “Hey,” said Pavel. “Your reaction is just the natural reaction to seeing justice carried out. She’s my family too, and it sucks that she’s chosen to be someone who harms others, but she needs to be called to account for it now.”

  “I am very partial to justice,” said the Ghost, softly. “As was Sister, once.”

  “That ship launched a long time ago,” said Jessamyn.

  “Sailed,” said the Ghost. “The expression is properly rendered, ‘that ship sailed long ago.’”

  Jess felt her mouth curving into a sad smile. “On Earth, maybe,” she said. “No sailing ships on Mars.”

  The Ghost nodded and then abruptly dismissed them from the room.

  “He really doesn’t get the finer points of social niceties,” said Pavel. “No, ‘I’ll be seeing you later. Have a good one.’” Pavel shook his head as the two of them returned back along the corridor.

  Jess shrugged. “You wouldn’t notice it as much if you’d grown up with my brother. My parents tried and tried to get him to say, ‘hello,’ when entering a room or ‘goodbye,’ when exiting.”

  “He says that stuff now,” said Pavel.

  “That’s Kazuko’s influence. Not mine or my parents’.”

  “Huh,” said Pavel. “So tell me, how do you feel about your brother’s little crush on Dr. Zaifa?”

  “What?” demanded Jess.

  Pavel grinned. “He’s crazy for her. Don’t tell me you never noticed.”

  In fact, it hadn’t occurred to Jessamyn that her brother liked Kazuko. Not in that way, at least. “You’re imagining things,” said Jess, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Pavel shook his head.

  “You are,” said Jess. “Admit it.”

  “He’s over the moon about her,” said Pavel. “No pun intended,” he added, chuckling.

  “My brother would never allow himself to fall in love with a Terran.”

  Pavel tried, and failed, to look insulted. Still chuckling, he shook his head.

  “It’s different with you and me,” insisted Jess. “You, theoretically, would go to Mars with me if you could. Kazuko has made it very clear she thinks anyone living on Mars is deranged.”

  Humming quietly, Pavel seated himself at his station, checking the view count on the feeds disparaging his aunt.

  “So you’re obviously wrong about my brother,” Jess continued.

  “The heart wants what the heart wants,” Pavel said softly.

  “You’re wrong,” Jess muttered. “Eth would never allow himself to form an attachment where there was no hope for a future together.”

  Pavel didn’t respond this time and Jessamyn’s heart gave a twist. Maybe her brother had given up all expectation of ever returning. How much hope was there, really, for Pavel and Jess to return, to share a life on Mars?

  By the time Jessamyn and Pavel’s shifts had ended and Zussman and Ethan had awoken, there was another addition to what Pavel called the Defamation Campaign.

  “It is not, strictly speaking, ‘defamation,’” said Ethan. “Defamation implies that inaccuracies are being propagated. We are simply telling the truth.”

  “Yeah, but ‘Truth Campaign’ doesn’t have the same ring to it,” said Pavel.

  “With respect,” said Zussman, handing a plated ration to Pavel, “the designation ‘Truth Campaign’ sounds more like something the Chancellor would entitle one of her programs aimed at the spreading of inaccuracies and deceit.”

  “She’s one twisted peppermint stick,” said Pavel, taking the plate.

  “Indeed, sir,” agreed Mr. Zussman.
<
br />   After their meal, the four gathered to watch another vid crafted by Ethan and Harpreet.

  “Kazuko was of great assistance in the preparation of this one,” said Ethan.

  Jessamyn felt irritation at her brother’s mention of the Terran scientist. But his face, as usual, gave nothing away. Pushing annoyance aside, Jessamyn focused her attention on the holoscreen.

  This time, instead of featuring the personal allegations of one person, the vid treated with Lucca’s career. “How Long Has Lucca Held the Reins?” discussed ideas that were raised every ten years or so by conspiracy theorists. The vid had been created using not just altered appearances, but artificial people.

  “It’s called ‘sim-casting,’” Pavel whispered to Jessamyn.

  “They’re … cartoons?” asked Jess.

  Pavel’s brow creased. “No. They’re sims,” he said, as if the difference was an important one.

  If it was an important distinction, it was lost on Jess.

  There were long stretches that Jessamyn found difficult to follow because the two sim-casters focused on Terran political theory and practice of the last two hundred years, which was a period of Earth history ignored by Marsian school curricula. But the piece put to brilliant use a very Cavanaugh Kipling-style approach to asking questions which, once asked, were hard to shake from the subconscious.

  The sim-casters continued their banter. “It is extraordinary, when you stop to think of it, the remarkable similarity in general political direction of the last one hundred seventy-five years. It’s very different from other periods of Earth’s history, certainly.”

  “Mmm, quite,” replied the other sim. “Although I daresay, if you and I tried, we might do better than to simply observe general tendencies in similar directions. Might there be, as well, specific tendencies in identical directions?”

  “There might, indeed,” said the first sim, nodding grimly. “The complete lack of ambition regarding space travel or exploration comes to mind.”

  “As do half a dozen other policies,” replied the second sim. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to put such speculations off for another day.”

  “We will, indeed,” said the first. “That is all we have time for today. I hope we’ve given you plenty to think about.” Here the sim-caster smiled, turning to look directly at the audience. “And please don’t forget to comm in your answer to the question, ‘What would you do if you had unlimited and un-policed access to the Re-body Program?’ We’d love to know what you come up with.”