Losing Mars (Saving Mars Series-3)

by Swanson, Cidney

  Jess nodded happily. She didn’t want a repeat of her encounter with the Central African Air Control, exciting as that had been.

  “You look happy,” said Pavel, seating himself beside her.

  She was happy. Sitting in the cockpit of Pavel’s Hercules-class ship transformed life on Earth from drudgery into something with promise and hope and joy.

  Firing up the ship, she grinned at Pavel. “I got called out for hazardous attitudes for flying low to the ground back home,” she said. “This should be fun!”

  She circled the ship just meters above the ground, doing a quick fly-by of the Gopher Hole. Jess noted that Harpreet, though perpetually calm, was gripping both the armrests at her side.

  “I’ll exercise caution,” Jessamyn said, for Harpreet’s sake. “Earth’s gravity makes everything here trickier. But a lot more fun, too.”

  “How very comforting, indeed,” said Brian Wallace. He had placed a sort of sleeping mask over his eyes, perhaps sleepy, perhaps preferring not to watch Jessamyn’s under-the-radar flying.

  Jessamyn laughed and winked at Pavel. “We’re fine,” she said. “No dust-storms, no snow-storms. And the ship is in really excellent condition. Having access to replacement parts like you do here on Earth—well, Crusty would gladly sacrifice an arm or a leg to have what you take for granted here.”

  “Aye,” replied Brian. “There are compensations to life on Earth, lass.”

  The merriment drained from Jess’s eyes at his comment.

  Pavel saw this and reached over to place his hand on hers, murmuring, “We’ll get you home, somehow. Someday.”

  Jess nodded. But would it be soon enough? She feared for Mars’s future if Mei Lo couldn’t maintain control of Mars Colonial.

  Jessamyn felt anxious as she thought of hearing news from Mars, something they hoped to be able to do by taking this trip. They were on their way to purchase parts the Marsians needed for deep-space communication with MCC. With the high-power radio transmitters in Chicago, the group of Marsians and sympathizers would at last be able to speak with MCC.

  Jessamyn gathered her thoughts back to the navigation panel, her fingers flying across it. “It’s going to get rough,” she said. “We’ve got mountains ahead.”

  Brian uttered a resigned sort of groan.

  Harpreet murmured to him that perhaps she would take the sleep-patch he’d offered earlier. “If you truly don’t mind giving up your last one?”

  Brian sorted through his satchel for the med-patch. Finding it, he passed it over. “It’s the least I can do,” he said.

  “My friend,” said Harpreet, “You have done much already.”

  From her peripheral vision, Jessamyn saw the Scotsman shrug.

  “Well, if I’m to get yer CEO to accept me as ambassador,” said Wallace, “I should think no kindness would be too great or too small, eh?”

  Jess didn’t entirely approve of Brian Wallace’s latest wish: to be a liaison between the two worlds. But she definitely approved of his interest in bankrolling the Marsians’ activities on Earth. Equipment was expensive. Travel was expensive. Brian was wealthy. Hoping as she did for an independent Mars, Jess felt reluctant to promote Earth-Mars relations in the future. However, she kept this as much to herself as possible while depleting Brian Wallace’s stores of tellurium.

  As they neared Chicago, Brian placed a call and discovered the party which had previously agreed to trade transmitters for tellurium now insisted upon cold hard credits. He wheedled and joked, but the supplier stood firm.

  “Well,” said Brian to the merchant, “I hope ye don’t mind waiting an extra day, in that event. I’m not carrying credits in that quantity.”

  The Chicago supplier did not mind waiting, and the upshot was that Jessamyn had to fly onward, past where she’d planned to bring her craft down.

  “There’s an off-grid consciousness transfer hospital outside of Toronto,” said Brian Wallace. “We can convert tellurium to ready cash there.”

  It was night when the small craft touched down in a gritty suburb of Toronto. Pavel was eager to visit the hospital, out of curiosity about anything off-grid and medical, but Brian insisted the three remain safe in the ship while he make the transaction himself.

  “They know me and trust me,” said Wallace. “It’s best I give them no reason for suspicion. And if ye go sniffing about the hospital asking questions, well, lad, I think ye can see that would be unappreciated.”

  So Pavel, Jess, and Harpreet ate a dull meal of ration bars awaiting the conclusion of Brian Wallace’s business transaction. When he returned, he wore a broad grin.

  “Price has gone right through the ceiling,” he said, flashing a small coil of plastic. “This could buy an island or two,” he added, tucking the coil into a pocket which he zipped shut and patted twice. “Off to Chicago, then!”

  7

  WHISTLE-WORTHY

  Lucca Brezhnaya was smiling. A breakthrough at last! Vladim Wu had sent her a communiqué to the effect that tellurium had shown up in unusual quantities near Toronto. Which was in the Americas. The Chancellor wished she knew how to whistle a happy tune. This was a whistle-worthy occasion.

  “We’ve traced the source to a hospital doing illegal rebodies,” Wu informed the Chancellor. “If they’d simply stored the tellurium, we’d have been none the wiser, but apparently the quantity was more than such a place would use in two years, in the ordinary course of business, and they converted it to credits.”

  “They were greedy,” said Lucca.

  “As you predicted,” said Major Wu. “They were greedy and they offloaded enough to catch our attention. I will personally follow this up and report back to you.”

  Lucca smiled as she ended her conversation with Wu. The major was leading her straight to the Martian.

  Oh, yes, it was a very whistle-worthy occasion.

  8

  FOND OF PIZZA

  When they left Toronto, Jessamyn had allowed Pavel to pilot so that she could catch a few hours’ rest. They flew toward Chicago, hugging the edge of a large lake, avoiding traffic lanes and systems designed to “welcome” visitors to the small independent nation.

  Brian began describing what they could expect at the facility they were heading to.

  “I’ll need this one’s muscle,” he said, tapping Pavel on the shoulders.

  Jessamyn frowned. While she’d grown stronger on Earth than she’d ever been on Mars, she was all too aware of her own relative weakness compared to most anyone who’d grown up subject to Earth’s more taxing gravitational field.

  “Never mind, lass,” said Brian Wallace, noting Jessamyn’s discontent. “Ye have a pretty face, and that’ll ease our transaction in other ways. Offer a smile or two and we’ll get a better price.”

  Jess scowled. “I’ll do no such thing. I’m only accompanying you for one reason: to make sure the part matches my brother’s specifications.”

  Brian shrugged. “It’s your money. Or, rather, it’s mine. But you’re to regard it as yours. As it were.”

  With Harpreet to negotiate, Jess had no concerns as to whether or not they would get a good deal on what they needed.

  After Pavel brought the craft down, the four walked together to the parts manufacturer. But there was nothing for Pavel to carry, as it turned out. When Jessamyn examined the transmitters in stock, she felt certain they weren’t correctly configured.

  She sighed and sent images of the part to her brother via a small holo-transmitter.

  “Your assessment is accurate,” said her brother. “Inquire as to whether they are able to make alterations to the specifications I am transmitting now,” he said, fingers dancing on a screen.

  “We can do the work,” said the supplier, in response to Ethan’s queries. “But it will take two, maybe three days. And it’s going to cost you.”

  Harpreet negotiated and Jess scowled and Brian Wallace haggled, reminding the parts purveyor of their long-standing history with Clan Wallace, and at last an acceptab
le price was agreed upon.

  As the group of four returned to their ship, Brian received confirmation that the transmitter would be ready no later than the second morning from now.

  “So what do we do in the meantime?” asked Jessamyn, disappointed. “Go home?”

  “If we go home, it’s a sure thing they’ll finish the modifications early,” said Pavel.

  “We’ve got food, drink, and a place to stay aboard the ship,” said Harpreet. “I believe we should stay.”

  Jessamyn thought it sounded less boring to fly everyone home and then return on her own later, but no one else approved of that plan. In the end, they decided to stay in case the part should be ready early.

  “I’m hungry,” said Pavel.

  “I’m starving,” said Jess, still grumpy she wouldn’t be flying back and forth the next few days.

  “Have ye ever encountered an Earth-food known as ‘pizza’?” asked Brian Wallace.

  A small smile formed upon Jess’s face.

  “She’s a pizza fanatic,” said Pavel.

  “I had it once and loved it,” she admitted. “At the banquet where Pavel and I met.”

  “Oh, well, Budapesti pizza,” said Brian, dismissive. “Ye’ve never had pizza like this, then, lass. Chicago-style, deep-dish pizza is worth the trip, no matter how far away home might be.”

  “I’m sorry to bring it up,” said Harpreet, “but I believe we ought not to be seen wandering about, the four of us together, excepting when it is unavoidable.”

  “You’re right,” said Pavel, a look of disappointment crossing his face. “It would be safer to stay on the ship.”

  Brian Wallace shrugged. “The Republic of Chicago’s probably one of the safer places on Earth. They’ve a long history of looking the other direction.”

  “For a price,” said Pavel. He shook his head. “Not worth the risk. Sorry, Wallace.”

  “We have ration bars,” said Harpreet, brightly.

  But Brian Wallace put his foot down and said he’d rather be arrested and sent to New Timbuktu than eat ration bars when they were this close to world-class pizza. In the end, he set off on foot, alone.

  Half an hour later, Jessamyn was sinking her teeth into her third slice of a delectably soft crust, with just a bit of crispiness to its outer edge. She had to admit Brian was right about one thing: life on Earth offered certain compensations.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I have good news for you, Madam Chancellor,” reported Major Vladim Wu. “We’ve encouraged the illegally operating transfer hospital to cooperate.”

  “Yes?” said the Chancellor, breathless in her eagerness.

  “And we’ve managed to put a trace on the credits disbursed by the hospital,” continued Wu. “So, in a day or so, we should have some hard answers.”

  “A day?” Lucca dug her nails into her palms.

  “Or so. I’m sorry, Madam Chancellor. The encryptions utilized by these sorts of banking operations are sophisticated.” Wu hesitated before adding, “I thought you would wish to be kept apprised of our progress. In the future, I could wait until we have—”

  “No, no,” replied the Chancellor, cutting him off. “You were right. I want to know what you discover as soon you learn of it. Contact me immediately when you have something more. Chancellor out.”

  She could wait a day. She’d waited months already. What was a day?

  ~ ~ ~

  The group of four had spent a dull day aboard the ship, which was beginning to feel cramped. Jessamyn had read all three of the books on the ship’s wafer and was now itching to fly. Wallace had acquired more of the Chicago delicacy for lunch and again for dinner, which the group was now eating in silence.

  “I visited Chicago as a kid,” remarked Pavel, breaking the hush. “But we didn’t eat pizza. I wouldn’t have forgotten pizza this good.”

  “Did your aunt bring you?” asked Harpreet.

  “No, my parents. There’s a big museum. With all kinds of art. Stuff the Republic of Chicago had to fight hard to keep.” Pavel took another large bite of pizza. “Literally,” he added.

  “I studied your wars as a school child,” said Harpreet.

  “We all did,” said Jess. “So we wouldn’t make the same mistakes all over again.”

  Pavel finished the last slice in the pan before him. “You say it like it’s so easy. ‘Read some history. Don’t repeat it.’ Keeping the peace with a large and diverse population is a lot more complicated than just teaching history to kids and expecting them to learn from it.”

  Harpreet laughed lightly. “We will doubtless make our own mistakes.”

  Jessamyn could feel her face coloring and agreed. “Harpreet’s right. Mars will make its own mistakes.” She took a long sip of the beverage called ‘sarsaparilla.’ “Or in my case, I personally make Mars’s mistakes,” she muttered.

  “Hey,” said Pavel, reaching for Jessamyn’s hand. “Whatever’s going down back on Mars Colonial, it’s not all your fault.”

  Jessamyn shoved her pan of pizza toward Brian Wallace. He looked eagerly at the remaining three slices. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “Child,” said Harpreet, her voice soft. “Do not dwell too much in the past. You cannot escape the burden you have shouldered. But you can learn from it. And if you are very fortunate, you may have the chance to make reparations.”

  Jess nodded, sighed heavily, and crawled back to her bunk to sleep.

  The second day passed, with Brian making repeat visits to the pizza restaurant.

  “I don’t mind playing pizza delivery boy,” said Brian. “We’ll not see the like once we’re home in Yucca, will we?”

  “Home,” Jess repeated in contempt. She felt surprised that Brian thought of the desert community as “home.” She did not. She would not, she vowed. Home would always be Mars, whether she could return or not.

  “We’ll find a way back, child,” murmured Harpreet, softly.

  “I flew an M-class just a few years back,” said Pavel. “There’s got to be a dozen of them, at least, still in working condition.”

  “And they are likely under careful surveillance,” replied Harpreet, eyeing Jessamyn.

  “Don’t worry,” said Jess, her voice flat. “I’m not going to steal a ship.”

  “We could always build one, though,” said Pavel. “Not from scratch, maybe, but there are parts suppliers all over the world. If you picked up a piece here, a module there, you could have a ship in a year or two and no one the wiser.”

  Jess cheered considerably at the thought and was smiling by the time Brian arrived with dinner and turned the conversation to other channels.

  That night, when she lay down to sleep, Jessamyn dreamed of rockets a-building, and of starry fields to cross.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lucca Brezhnaya’s secretary pinged again. “Madam Chancellor? I have Major Wu for you.”

  “Put him through immediately,” said the Chancellor.

  “I believe we may have traced the credits to a high tech manufacturer of radio parts,” said Wu, “located in the Republic of Chicago.”

  “Chicago?” Lucca ran a manicured finger back and forth across her chin. “Chicago is rife with malcontents,” she mused aloud.

  “Exactly,” said Wu. “However, I do not believe the Martian is living amongst them. I’ve uncovered another string of clues pointing somewhere else entirely.”

  “Do go on.”

  The major continued. “I have reason to believe the girl may be dwelling in a desert to the east of what was once Los Angeles. What is more, it’s possible your nephew is there as well.”

  “Pavel?” Lucca’s voice rose in both octave and volume. “My nephew?”

  It made such perfect sense. Pavel loved the desert. How many times had he begged her to take him camping (of all things) in the Great Southwestern Desert of North America?

  “I want you to personally investigate the desert,” said Lucca.

  “With all due respect, Madam C
hancellor, I think my skills would be best put to use in Chicago at the moment.”

  “No,” said the Chancellor, pacing in and out of view of the holograph’s imager. “No, I want you to find my nephew. Johnston can manage tracking the credit flow. It’s his purview, after all.”

  “I have concerns about Johnston’s abilities—”

  “And I have concerns about locating my nephew,” barked Lucca, cutting Wu off. She took a cleansing breath. “Forgive me, my dear Vladim,” she said. “I’m sure Johnston will do the job. You’re all but handing it to him on a silver platter. How soon can we have someone in Chicago to ask the right sort of questions?”

  “I’ve already dispatched two field agents with experience in international banking and money laundering,” said Wu. “There are quite a few in the republic, Madam Chancellor.”

  “Yes, there would be, given that nation’s history,” Lucca said, nodding. “See that Johnston is fully briefed. I want you in the desert.”

  “As you wish, Madam Chancellor,” replied Wu. “Oh, and there is one other lead, although it’s hardly on a comparable scale. Credits originating from the same source have been repeatedly disbursed to a Chicago restaurant. A ‘pizza joint,’ I’m told.”

  Lucca’s eyebrows shot up. “Pizza?”

  “Yes, Madam Chancellor.”

  Lucca hesitated for a moment, troubled as to whether she ought after all to send Wu to Chicago. She believed her nephew liked pizza. But so did many people. On the other hand, she knew her nephew loved the desert. And the Martian would find it familiar. Home-like.

  “You are to investigate any leads in the desert and report back to me,” she said, decisive. “Good work, Major Wu. Chancellor out.”

  She placed an immediate call to her butler. “Zussman?”

  “Madam? How may I assist you?”

  “Is it your recollection my nephew was fond of pizza?”

  “Pizza, Madam? Yes, Madam, I believe he was extremely fond of it.”

  Lucca frowned. Had she made the right decision?

  “That will be all, Zussman. Chancellor out.”