Saving Mars

by Cidney Swanson

  Behind her, several girls laughed. Jess felt hairs rise along her neck, certain they were discussing her. She turned back and glared at them.

  The first-body girls stared at her in silence, then tittered again.

  Jess turned to the front. Terrans.

  A boy in front of her cleared his throat and addressed her. “You should’ve had it removed.”

  “Pardon?” asked Jess.

  He touched his wrist. “Your tattoo. You’ll lose a couple credits toward your twobody for marking your current body.”

  “Oh,” said Jess.

  “Why didn’t your parents make you remove it?” asked the boy.

  The line advanced and Jess—to avoid answering—pointed forward, indicating the boy should move. They shuffled ahead.

  “I’m sorry,” said the boy, turning back again. “That was rude of me. Tattoo removal is outrageously overpriced for first-bodies.”

  Jess, lacking a frame of reference from which to respond, kept silent. She found his accent fascinating and subtly shifted the shape of her mouth wondering how to match his “o’s” and “i’s”.

  “I’m Pavel,” he said. “In case, you know …” He trailed off as if Jess should know the remainder of the sentence.

  “In case what?” she asked.

  “Oh,” he said, a look of surprise flitting across his face. “It’s only that … well, a lot of people know my name already because of the election campaigning.”

  “Sorry,” said Jess. “I don’t recognize you.” She thought she’d done a good job matching his long vowel sounds.

  He flashed a row of white teeth, then hid them again, amused. “So, I say ‘I’m Pavel,’and you say—”

  “Jessamyn,” she heard herself replying.

  “I would have worn black, too,” he said, gesturing at Jess’s garments. “But Aunt Lucca’s a hard woman to say no to.” He laughed as if Jessamyn would get the joke.

  Her blank stare told him she didn’t.

  “Never mind,” he said, sobering. “Did you lose someone you knew in today’s attacks?”

  Jess shook her head slightly. He thinks I’m grieving, she thought, recalling Earth-stories where people dressed in black to mourn death.

  “You’re showing solidarity, then,” said Pavel, nodding approval. “I should have packed a change of clothes. This—” he indicated his midnight blue garb. “This is one hundred percent Lucca Brezhnaya.”

  “Hmm,” said Jessamyn, nodding. She thought the name sounded familiar. Maybe from a book she’d read?

  Immediately ahead, Jess saw the reason for the line’s slow progression. A group of three women assessed the attendees’ appearance before allowing them to scan inside the building.

  “Good luck with the outfit,” said Pavel, seeing where Jess’s gaze rested. “You could try explaining your reasons. Solidarity with the victims is running high tonight, my aunt says.”

  He crossed to stand before the trio of inspectors. Each gave a curt nod “yes,” and Pavel gained admittance.

  “See you later, Jessamyn,” said Pavel.

  Not likely, thought Jess.

  She approached the group of arbitrators. All three women shook their heads no at the same time. One took Jess by the upper arm and jostled her to the entrance, murmuring, “I’m sorry for your loss, but the dress code has not been relaxed. Someone will help you with a change of clothes just inside. Look for a gentleman in red. Bright red. Talk to him about renting an outfit, dear.”

  Jessamyn glanced back before passing through the narrow entrance door. She wanted to turn and run. Inside her Terran shoes, her toes curled and uncurled. Run.

  No, she told herself. Staring down at both wrists, she chose the left one containing her admission, scanned it, and passed inside the building.

  The music proved much, much louder now than it had been outside. It wasn’t in a style she recognized, though that was hardly surprising. Colonists had destroyed Terran recordings, and a good deal of Terran art, during the war fifty orbits earlier. Jessamyn had to admit the Earth-music at the banquet stirred her. It shook the floor, hummed through her breastbone, steady like a pulse. She looked for the man in red, but he found her first, grabbing her upper arm like the woman outside had done. It was irritating.

  “Size minus six?” he asked as he steered her to a counter.

  “What?” asked Jess, shouting to be heard over the music.

  “Your dress size. Minus six? Minus eight?” He let go her arm. “They’ll help you find something … appropriate.” He gazed at her from head to toe, shaking his head in disapproval. Then he was gone.

  “Your wrist, sugar?” said a woman from behind the counter.

  Jess repeated her left/right mantra and held out the correct wrist.

  “Hmm, tall and thin. Not a lot to choose from in your size,” said the woman. Her hands tapped the counter separating them and it lit up with images of dresses. “Black-and-white means we don’t have it, full color means we have it in your size.”

  Jess nodded. She stared at the counter as it came aglow with a row of six gowns. Six very ridiculous-looking gowns. Fortunately all were grayed out. Not available, she said to herself.

  “Hurry up, honey,” said the woman behind the counter. “The speaker address starts at 9:00 whether you’re dressed or not.” As the woman finished speaking, she swiped her hand across the counter, revealing for Jess a new set of dress pictures. “I can help the next guest over here,” she said, moving to the far side of the counter.

  Jess passed her hand across the counter, moving past one page and another and another. The gowns were equally repulsive or bizarre, but she hadn’t seen any in color yet. Then three slid into place before her in color. They reminded her of gowns from a book of Terran fairy tales she’d loved once. The dresses might have enchanted her when she was five or six years old, but she couldn’t imagine encasing herself in those layers of … whatever the gauzy material was. Another page with two more gowns. One had no sleeves or shoulder-covering. How does that stay put? She scrolled again.

  END-END-END read the panel before her. She pushed backward. Between two gowns that reminded her of illustrations from the long-discarded fairytale books, she saw something she might actually wear. It’s called a sari, some part of her remembered. She’d read a sprawling saga set in India with a heroine who’d appeared on the cover wearing the long, pleated skirt and abbreviated bodice of a sari. Harpreet had given her the book.

  The short-sleeved top which bared a hint of belly would have been vastly impractical on Mars; the flowing, long skirt would be a nuisance, impossible with a walk-out suit. Here’s to new experiences, Jess thought, shaking her head slightly. She raised her left wrist once again and held it over a box that read “Select Me!”

  Looking up, she waited to see what she was supposed to do next.

  “Move on, syrup,” said the woman behind the counter to Jess. “To your left.”

  Glancing left, Jessamyn saw a small glass door lighting up. Behind it lay an orange length of fabric. She reached for it.

  “Dressing rooms to the right, sugar,” said the woman behind the counter.

  Taking the package, Jessamyn suddenly remembered the pages-long description of how the heroine had dressed herself in a sari. She wasn’t at all certain she’d be able to turn the length of fabric into something meant to be seen in public.

  But inside the dressing room, she discovered several elderly Terrans waiting to help girls with their gowns. “We’ve got a sari here,” called one of the women. “The skinny redhead.”

  A wrinkled and white haired woman shuffled toward Jess. “I can do a sari,” said the old woman. She grinned at Jessamyn. “This would be a lot easier if my fingers weren’t so arthritic.” She laughed. “Just you wait. Tomorrow’s going to be a big shock, I can tell you.”

  Jessamyn stood uncertainly and then realized the woman was referring to Jess’s presumably-imminent re-bodying.

  “Go on, then, undress,” said the old woman.<
br />
  Jess didn’t want to undress. She wanted to be ready to leave as soon as Ethan contacted her. She stared at her black top and trousers.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the old woman. “You want to wear the sari over your shirt and pants?”

  “Yes, please,” replied Jessamyn.

  “Suit yourself,” said the old woman. “Come closer. You can move quicker than me. For now.” She cackled again. “I’m going to do a quick spray-shrink,” she said, removing a canister from a pocket.

  When Jessamyn looked puzzled, the old woman said, “It’ll wear off by morning. Don’t worry.”

  With that, the woman spritzed Jess’s top and trousers. She felt a mild tingle and gaped as her garments contracted to form a second ink-black skin.

  “There,” said the wrinkled woman, nodding in approval.

  Next, Jessamyn was pushed, prodded, and spun round a few times. The fabric of the sari, when it drifted past her cheek once, felt warm and soft and light as sunshine.

  “Wow,” Jess whispered, running her fingers over the pleated length at her waist.

  “Silk,” said the old woman. “Real silk. No expense spared for those of you invited to the Awards Banquet. I almost got in, myself. It was easier though, fifteen years ago. Don’t know how you kids manage all those volunteer hours and lessons and the rest of it.”

  “Mmm,” said Jessamyn, nodding. “Getting here was no easy feat.”

  “Your generation will be running things when I make fourbody, so I’m glad to see the increase in civic contributions, I can tell you,” said the old woman.

  Jess realized with a shock that the woman wasn’t old at all—that she was maybe the age of Jess’s own mother. A shudder of aversion ran through Jess. Body-swapping was real here—not just an imagined thing.

  “You’re done. Go have a look.” The not-really-old woman smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. “Oh, no. Wait-wait-wait!” The woman shuffled off to a counter, pushed the lid off of a small, thin box, and removed something Jess couldn’t quite see.

  Holding her arms apart, as though pantomiming the carrying of an object, the woman approached Jessamyn. Jess caught a glitter of something that looked like the spider’s web she had seen with Ethan. She felt a light tickle as the something was draped over her head and fluttered to rest upon her shoulder.

  “Mmm, yes. That does it. Make sure you find a mirror out there in the banquet hall. The web comes alive under low lighting,” said the woman, wheeling an oblong mirror in front of Jess so that she could see herself.

  She looked … not like Jessamyn. Back home, she’d avoided wearing orange (popular for hiding dirt stains) because of her red hair. But she looked really good in the flame-colored sari, she realized with a tiny smile.

  She took a small step forward. Swish-swish—the silk whispered against her, more a thing of liquid or air than the solid fabrics Jess knew from home. Another step—swish-swish—it was marvelous.

  “Deposit the gown before you leave for exams,” said the woman who had dressed her. “Or they’ll garnish your first day’s wages. First week’s wages, with that much real silk.”

  Jessamyn smiled her thanks, wondering if she was supposed to pay the woman, when a bell sounded in the hall outside.

  “Hurry up or you’ll miss the graduation address!” cackled the old woman.

  No paying, then. Jess took a deep breath, gathered the soft layers in front of her, lifted them a few centimeters, and stepped into the hallway.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A ROPE TUG OF SADNESS

  She followed a group of brightly costumed eighteen-year-olds up a broad marble staircase as they pushed into a large and dark room. The room wasn’t merely large—by Marsian standards, it was enormous. Strangest of all to Jessamyn was the high ceiling; it made the Crystal Pavilion seem dumpy and squat. The air required to fill such a room would be … Jess stopped herself, laughing inside. Breathable air was everywhere on Earth. They could make their ceilings as high as they liked without regard to the cost of filling them with breathable air.

  Upon the distant ceiling, star-like pulses winked on and off to the beat of the music. The lighting inside was subdued and Jess thought the small points of light were meant to imitate a vast night sky. Everywhere, she saw decorative plants and trees. A girl beside her plucked something from a nearby tree. A pear? The girl took a couple of bites and then tossed the fruit into a large receptacle before reaching for another one.

  Jess stared at the girl, stared at the receptacle. It was full of things that smelled strongly. Two more girls drifted past, swathed in cloud-like fabric, and dumped half-full drinking vessels into the receptacle.

  Waste, thought Jess. The container is for waste. She stared in amazement as guest after guest tossed half-full plates or uneaten pieces of fruit into the large container. Appalled, Jess moved away from the waste receptacle.

  Swish-swish-swish whispered her sari as she trailed along the walls of the great room. Her eyes caught movement and she looked up, catching sight of herself in a mirror. She gasped. The “spider’s web” glistened on her skin, countless jewels held within the silken strands. Beneath the soft lights of the banquet room, the orange-colored silk had turned the burnt-rust of a Marsian sunset.

  A bell sounded and the “mirror” disappeared. Upon every wall, Jessamyn now saw repeated the image of a woman she recognized from the broadcast at Brian Wallace’s. It was the woman Wallace didn’t trust.

  “Welcome,” boomed the politician’s deep voice. “Welcome and congratulations on this, the eve of your eighteenth birthdays.”

  More interested in finding food, Jess tuned out the speaker’s voice. As the politician upon the walls wished everyone good luck, Jess found a queue for a long series of tables laden with foods she’d only seen in pictures. Hundreds of scents wafted upon the air, and she could identify none of them.

  Stomach-ache or not, she was so going to eat Terran food.

  Ahead of her in the queue, a group of boys took disks from a stack as they approached the rations table. They placed food upon the disks. Upon the plates, Jessamyn corrected herself. Plates weren’t in use on Mars, but Jess could see they would come in very handy for the sort of rations spread before her. She watched the others picking and choosing from amongst the varied offerings. Placards glowed before each food, identifying it with a name.

  Realizing her throat felt parched, Jess reached for a small cup marked “honey,” which she felt fairly certain was a Terran beverage. Then she took several leaves of a curly, dark green vegetable that resembled an overgrown algae. It was unlabeled, which made Jessamyn think it must be popular enough that it didn’t need a placard. Atop the leaves of dark green nestled a variety of small items labeled “mixed berries.” Jess took one of each type, hoping, for Harpreet’s sake, that one of them was a raspberry. A girl behind her piled twenty or thirty of the round blue-colored ones onto an already-full plate.

  Jess’s own plate looked very empty in comparison. And she was holding up the line with her indecision. She took several steps forward, pausing at “butter.” She placed a stack of the yellow-y slices on one side of her plate.

  “Way to live it up your last night,” said one of the girls clustered in line behind her.

  Jessamyn smiled and continued past plates of strange-smelling steaming dishes. There was a delay beside a food called “pizza.” Jess remembered pizza from a series of detective novels she’d read over and over when she was ten. There seemed to be several varieties, but she kept looking until she discovered one labeled “pepperoni.” That had been the detective’s favorite. She took a triangle-shaped portion.

  Behind her, she heard whispers. “She took one raspberry. Look—one!”

  “Must be how she stays thin. Look at her.”

  “If she turns sideways, she’ll disappear!”

  Jessamyn turned around. “I’m thin, not deaf,” she said, glaring at the trio of whispering girls. Remembering Harpreet’s request, she asked, in a gentler voice
, “So, which one’s the raspberry?”

  Two of the girls had covered their mouths, eyes wide. The third pointed to the red berry on Jess’s plate.

  “Thanks,” said Jessamyn.

  She left the food line, even though the laden tables continued on into the distance. She already had more food than she was sure she could finish. “Waste must be contagious,” she murmured, grasping a handful of sari so that she could cross the crowded room more swiftly. The setting brought to mind her first day at school—the hushed awkwardness of being surrounded by complete strangers.

  Well, she was here, and she had a plate of Terran rations, and she was going to consume pizza of pepperoni. Crossing to a tall window, she found a corner where she could sequester herself behind a column. The window looked out over a large rectangular body of water. A pool, her mind told her. So many things she’d only read of or seen in pictures, and now she saw them in reality. A smile grew on her face. She would collect experiences so that she could pass them out through the annums like Harpreet’s tea.

  Jessamyn reached for the raspberry and passed it cautiously beyond her lips. It felt dry and velvety upon her tongue. Crushing it against the roof of her mouth, she felt herself puckering. The unfamiliar combination of sweet and tart made her shudder once. Such flavor in so small an item! It was wondrous. She swallowed and noticed how the scent of the fruit lingered in her nasal passages and upon her tongue.

  On Mars, she would have drawn out the experience of raspberry-ness. Would have rested with closed eyes to concentrate on its subtleties. Would have replayed the experience in her mind. But she had limited time and a large plate of rations to finish before her brother and crew returned.

  She reached for a fingerful of butter. Wet, she thought, Slippery. She took another mouthful, trying to focus on the flavor. Delicious. Then, she noticed in annoyance a heated discussion happening on the other side of her column. Taking another mouthful of butter, she paid attention to the rate at which her mouth converted it from semi-solid to liquid. The great thing about butter, she decided, was that you didn’t have to chew it at all. It was a very … restful ration.