The ship responded eagerly and Jess murmured to it, “Bet you’ve always wanted to try this too, huh?” The vast lake of silica opened before them. Using the spoilers to full effect, Jess felt herself descending and slowing. It was noisy as anything, but so easy—almost too easy. She grinned broadly, imagining how she would demand this form of landing to be included in the pilot curriculum just as soon as someone came out to get her. As the sand rose up to meet the ship, a memory or instinct told Jess to keep her nose up as long as possible.
Impact, when it came, felt as unlike the gentle descent as possible. Jessamyn hurled forward toward the front viewing window, her harness cutting into her walk-out suit at the shoulders as it prevented her from striking the polycarb. Immediately after, she was flung to the left. She experienced a split second of weightlessness followed by a slamming sensation that made it feel like her skull was parting company from her brain. A final jolt forced her downward into her seat, and then the world tilted to one side as the ship spun clockwise, digging its way into the deep brown sand. Jess held her breath to see if she’d truly landed. Emergency lighting glowed pale blue, directing her to an exit hatch. She scrambled out, noting a sharp pain in her left shoulder where the harness had apparently been overzealous in protecting her. Quickly, she checked her suit’s integrity. It was no use setting foot outside if her walk-out suit had torn. But no, her suit remained fully functional. She blinked in the sun, stepping round and round her craft. It was in one piece. The undercarriage would be scratched to Hades, but she could tell the hopper would fly again.
Jess began laughing and hugging herself. Shouting to the sand and sky, she cried out, “Worst landing ever!” She bounced up and down several times. “And I loved it!”
Unfortunately, the landing was easy compared with the news that awaited Jess when the rescue crew arrived thirty-two minutes later.
“Pilot-in-training Jessamyn Jaarda, you are hereby suspended from all flight until further notice.”
Jess felt her temper flare at the words of the helmeted officer delivering this appalling news. “I just saved a planetary hopcraft from certain destruction. No way are they grounding me. I’ll appeal the decision to the Academy dean.”
She peered to make out the face behind the speaker’s reflective helmet. She’d been certain Lobster would come to find her or her charred remains, but the voice hadn’t sounded like Lobster’s. She felt a twinge of disappointment that her fate meant so little to him. And then, as she caught a clear glimpse of the face inside the pressurized suit, she felt sick. There would be no further appeal—she’d been sentenced by the dean of the Academy himself.
Chapter Two
FOR THE LOVE OF MARS
In the early days of Mars Colonial, surviving to another birthday had been an accomplishment worth recognizing. But Mars’s annual orbit around the sun took 686 Earth days, and waiting that long for a birthday felt wrong to early settlers. In the end, they kept to the Terran reckoning of age which resulted in almost two birthdays per annum, or single Mars orbit. Later Marsians stuck with the tradition because no one particularly wanted to give up their “extra” birthday.
Today’s celebration of Lillian Jaarda’s spring birthday had been subdued by Jessamyn’s announcement that she’d been suspended from flight. Jessamyn would not be rushing off from the birthday party to training. She would not be dashing from training to the Festival of Singing Ice. Instead, she found herself with seven long hours before she could even think about preparing for the festival—an event she no longer cared about. Even her books failed to console her. What was there left to care for if she’d been grounded?
“Make yourself useful. The solars need scrubbing,” said her mom, turning briefly from her algae pots to her morose daughter.
The solar panels always needed scrubbing. It was a job Ethan liked, as it got him out of the house. And Jess knew better than to argue with her mother after this morning’s debacle. There had been an abrupt thank you for Jess’s water gift and silence on the subject of the suspension from flight. Her mother’s lack of response wasn’t a good thing or a sign of indifference. Lillian Jaarda had been a promising pilot—the most promising of her generation—and Jess now felt the weight of her mother’s disappointment pressing upon her like a malfunctioning airlock.
Ethan joined his sister outside before long and the two worked in companionable silence. Ethan didn’t tell Jess that he was sorry about her suspension, although she knew he was. But it wasn’t a subject she felt like discussing. It was a gaping hole in the center of the universe and if she stared at it too long, it might suck her in like a black hole.
“I am relieved the planetary dog will be at the festival,” said Ethan, breaking a two-hour’s silence.
Jess knew that if she waited, her brother would probably add something more to give the remark context. The two continued scrubbing side by side. Their oversized home required more heat and oxygen than most houses and a correspondingly greater number of solar panels.
“I do not have any of its hair,” said Ethan.
Jess tried to untangle the path of thought that had led her brother to make these two statements. Ethan collected things. Ethan loved the planetary dog—the only animal on Mars. Ethan would be at the festival tonight because he was receiving another award for something he’d invented. This line of thought led Jess to figure out why her brother was thinking about the dog: Ethan was probably worried about the crowds and trying to find a focal point which would keep him from becoming overwhelmed by the high levels of stimulation.
“Collecting a dog hair would be a good thing for you to focus on tonight, huh, Eth?”
Ethan didn’t say anything. He’d stopped scrubbing and was staring blankly at the solars.
“Hey, Eth, come back to me,” said Jess. “You’re going to be fine tonight. I promise.” Well, she hoped her brother would be fine. Although the festival occurred in a large and open space—the kind of environment Ethan liked—something about crowds made Ethan respond as though he were in a tightly enclosed space. Now Jess had something to worry about besides how miserable an existence she would lead without flying.
“You could stay home,” suggested Jess.
“No.”
“Mom’s staying home this time.”
“No.”
“You really want that dog hair, huh?”
Ethan smiled. “Yes.”
Jess laughed. Her brother was a genius, but he had some very odd quirks, like his collecting. He’d created a series of layered-level boxes holding objects he found meaningful. Or interesting. Or something. Jess wasn’t able to divine the guiding principle behind his collections.
When she’d been small, she’d thought of his containers as miniature houses: Ethan would wall off each collected item so that when you looked at one of the levels from above, it was as if you were peering inside a house where the roof had been removed. Each level stacked atop an earlier level so that the whole thing resembled a multi-storied building.
Her brother’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts.
“You will fly again, Jessie.”
Jess was undisturbed by the abrupt change of subject—normal for Ethan—but she flushed at his use of her baby-name. Her fair skin colored at the least provocation and burned easily. Friends murmured with jealousy that Jess was sure to get her First Wrinkle before any of the rest of them.
“Who wants to be a Mars Raider, anyway,” she said, feigning indifference.
“Jessamyn does,” replied her brother.
“Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “No fooling you, huh?”
“I know that you want this badly enough to risk capture upon Earth, to risk being re-bodied, to risk starting a new war—”
“All right, already,” said Jess, cutting him off. “Yes to all the above. And tons more. Hades, Ethan. I need a get-out-of-jail-free-card at this point.” She bumped into her brother’s shoulder—a form of contact he tolerated—as she referenced a Terran game he loved.
&
nbsp; But Ethan shook his head. “You need an advocate—someone who will stand up for you and alter the decision of the dean or the board of directors.”
“How about you?”
“No,” said Ethan. “My skills in the art of persuasion are negligible. Also, I believe you acted wrongly. You need someone who can persuade others that your wrong action was a right action.”
Jess laughed, causing her walk-out suit to rush additional oxygen to her helmet. “You’re a freak. You know that, right?”
“So you have told me.”
Jess shook her head. “Let’s call it a day. My afternoon wet ration says I can beat you at a game of Monopoly.”
They bounded back toward the house, bantering.
“Jessamyn cannot beat me,” insisted Ethan. “There exists adequate data to demonstrate this.”
“Then I guess Jessamyn will be pretty thirsty come the festival Tea Offering,” she replied, subtly reminding him to refer to her with a pronoun instead of by proper name.
After a short pause, Ethan said, “You will be as dry as Mars.”
“Oh, good one,” she said. Figures of speech were challenging for her brother, who thought almost exclusively in terms literal.
They re-entered the dwelling, shrugging out of their suits. Jess felt her brother’s anxiety rising in the enclosed space.
“Monopoly,” she said, redirecting his attention. “Go find it.” She hoped it would be enough to distract him out of a downward spiral that led, ultimately, to panic and the fetal position.
“Yes,” he said, a tiny smile forming.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Her brother’s phobias and idiosyncrasies became more pronounced when he had a large event looming before him. She appreciated that for most families, the Festival of Singing Ice in spring and the Festival of Coming Cloud in fall were joyous occasions. A time to meet people you hadn’t seen all annum. A chance to hear one of the Secretary General’s inspiring speeches. But for Ethan, the festivals were primarily hurdles to get past.
Still, the fact that their mom was planning to stay home this annum meant that at least one member of the family felt confident Ethan could handle the crowds and noise. Jess hoped her mom was right.
~ ~ ~
“Take care of your brother,” murmured Jessamyn’s mother. “You know what your father’s like at these things.”
Yes, Jess knew that her dad would be at his absent-minded-professor-est at this event where so many vied for his attention.
“Maybe I should go,” her mother said, frowning.
“No, Mom,” said Jess. “It’s your birthday. You stay home and enjoy the humidifier. Ethan will be fine. He’s a man on a mission.”
Her mother raised one eyebrow.
“He wants a piece of dog hair for his collection,” explained Jess as her father joined them.
Her father looked surprised. “All those birthday visits to pet the planetary dog and he doesn’t already have one?”
“Guess not. At least, not from this planetary dog,” said Jess.
She had no idea if this was the same dog or if they’d had to bring a new embryo out of cryo since her childhood. Jess had never once touched the planetary dog on her birthday visit. She’d refused year after year and given up the visits as soon as she’d turned ten Terran years old. Ethan’s visits had continued until his seventeenth birthday.
“I am ready,” said Ethan, emerging from his room. He’d dressed up for the occasion, donning a proper lapelled jacket.
Jess could see the orange collar of his favorite tee shirt circling his neck like one of Saturn’s rings. “Pull down on your tee,” she said. “It’s showing.”
Ethan adjusted his shirt. Jess knew no one would laugh aloud at her brother anymore. He was too well-respected. But she didn’t like to see him looking so obviously different. Still, if donning a worn-out tee was what it took to keep him comfortable for the evening ahead, she was all for it.
They arrived at the Crystal Pavilion early to give Ethan the chance to become gradually surrounded by increasing numbers of people. Jess kept him busy viewing exhibits from school-age children, studying works of art, and of course, looking for planetary dog hairs. New Houston’s Ice Fest brought citizens from all over the northern hemisphere together for one very big party. While Marsians inherited much of the independent spirit of their pioneering forebears, they knew that their best chance of survival in the unfriendly climate was to maintain excellent relations with their neighbors. “We need one another,” was an oft-repeated Marsian proverb.
Lobster lumbered over to Jess, a sad frown disfiguring his face. “I’m sorry Jess, I did what I could for you, but …” He didn’t need to say it. You disobeyed a direct order rang out clearly in both of their minds.
“I know,” she said.
Jess had managed to keep her fears about never flying again from the surface until she said those two words: I know. She felt a contraction in her throat and a burning behind her eyes. Like all Marsian children, she knew better than to waste water with tears. She squeezed Lobster’s large forearm and moved off, herding Ethan toward the front of the Pavilion so he wouldn’t have to push through the crowd to receive his award later. The Secretary General and CEO of Mars Colonial would be addressing the gathered crowd shortly. Most of the members of the board of directors had already taken their seats on the raised dais.
You need an advocate. Jess heard her brother’s words in her head. She scanned the faces of the board members. Several were friendly with her father, most owed her brother a huge debt of gratitude for some solution he’d proposed during various crises. But none knew Jess on a first name basis. She doubted any would recognize her. And they’d all agree with Ethan, most likely. She’d clearly and obviously committed a wrong action. Worse, she’d do it again, given the chance.
Jess glanced at her brother as the Secretary General marched on stage, followed by a black, white, and tan Australian shepherd. The crowd surged forward, clapping and stomping in support of the planet’s most popular leader in two centuries. Jess saw her brother reaching for his eyebrow, stroking it once, twice, three times, before replacing his hand at his side.
Only three times, she thought to herself. That’s good. She wished she could comfort her brother with a quick squeeze, but she knew that her touch would increase his discomfort. Instead, she leaned close, whispering a reminder.
“Don’t forget your third eye,” she murmured in reference to a membrane-implant her brother had invented. By blinking in rapid succession, the eye forced the membrane to drop into place. It served only one purpose: the membrane allowed a person to see items hidden under or behind high-tech cloaking material. Ethan didn’t react well to surprises, and festival organizers loved springing a surprise reveal of an onstage object or person. The membrane helped. When she was small, Jessamyn had pestered him for one of her own ‘til he’d said yes.
Waiting for the crowd to settle for the Secretary General’s opening remarks, Jess blinked rapidly, causing the membrane to slide down. Sure enough, onstage—hiding beneath a cloak—rested a beautiful ice sculpture of a teapot. A tribute to the Tea Offering, no doubt. She looked over at her brother, who was studying the hidden sculpture with great interest.
Crisis averted, thought Jess.
The Secretary General began her speech commemorating the accomplishments of the past half-orbit since Cloud Fest. Jess’s ears pricked when she heard her mother’s name praised for her Household Algae Pot Program, but mostly she missed the Secretary’s speech. She was moving from face to face down the row of board members, trying to decide which one might be willing to advocate for her, to get her back in the air.
Even thus preoccupied, however, Jessamyn couldn’t help looking back to the Secretary General when it came time for the Presentation of Plenty. The entire room silenced as a screen appeared so that every citizen of Mars Colonial could see with their own eyes the store of ration bars in their copper-shiny wraps. Like everyone in the room with her, Jess found
comfort in viewing the food supply that would keep starvation at bay until such a time as Marsians could grow non-toxic crops.
The current Secretary provided ridiculous access to Rations Storage, in case there were any doubting Thomases among the citizenry. Rations Storage sat next to the Crystal Pavilion and all were welcome to tour the facility on any non-distribution days. Mostly, families strolled past the rows-upon-rows of foodstuff only during festivals. Jess had never bothered with the tour. She knew firsthand, from her granddad, the exact date upon which the nutrition bars would run out: one annum after the next raid was scheduled to be completed. Which meant just over three annums from now.
Jess’s heart rate picked up at the thought of raiding. To be considered for piloting the next raid, she needed hours. To get hours, she needed her suspension revoked. She had to get back in the air.
The Secretary continued speaking as the screen behind her cleared. “Citizens of Mars, over three Terran centuries ago, our foremothers and forefathers arrived upon this planet, having determined that humanity could and would prosper upon Mars as it had upon Earth. They came for many reasons: some for fame, others for wealth, many to satisfy an abiding curiosity. But they stayed for only one reason: for the love of Mars.”
Secretary Mei Lo paused as heads nodded and a few “amens” sounded. Then she continued. “But after two centuries had passed and Terrans grew desperate upon Earth, battling the dark fronts of environmental disaster, poverty, and hunger, the governments of Earth declared the Mars Project a failure and refused to send needed supplies, even those Marsians had paid for with tellurium shipments. Colonists remained, tightening their belts. Why did they remain?” Her eyes swept the room as she waited before pronouncing the words. “For the love of Mars.”
The room grew silent as the Secretary reached the darkest part of the tale. “Some left to join the Re-body Movement on Earth. Yes, some chose to leave. But your ancestors remained. Every one of you on Mars today is here because your great-great-great grandfather or grandmother thought Mars was worth fighting for. And when war came—a war not of our making—your ancestors fought. When Terrans set their deadly satellites in high orbit surrounding Mars, we protested. When they demanded we return to Earth, we declared our independence. And when Terran aggressors destroyed our orbital mirrors, forcing temperatures back toward frigid pre-colonization levels, we grieved. But did we give up? Did we give in?”
Saving Mars Page 2