Defying Mars (Saving Mars Series-2) (16 page)

So I guess this means you’ll be seeing me soon. I don’t know half the things Crusty has done to get the ship ready in time, but I’m glad to have him on my side. You didn’t get the chance to meet him before. I’m sure you’ll like him. And his colorful expressions, which are anything but rock-based.

I have two last nights at home. Tomorrow, I will play the part of hero for another day. After that, I suppose they will call me a villain. Or traitor. Something horrible. But I’m doing this because I want Mars to have a fighting chance. Flying is the one gift I have to offer to my people.

See you soon.

Your friend,

Jessamyn Jaarda

Jess waited and waited for her parents to return. When bedtime rolled around and they still weren’t back, she slunk back to her room. But her bed felt all the wrong size and her room was too warm and she rose at last, drifting from room to room, trying to find a way to say goodbye.

She settled in her brother’s room, lying upon the floor to watch the satellites roll past. The sleep mat felt better than her own bed and soon her eyes began to feel heavy.

An hour later Jessamyn awoke to a bright light. She grunted and blinked and remembered where she was. Her brother’s chronometer reported it was just after midnight. Why had the room illumined?

And then, her eyes adjusting, Jessamyn made out the shape of her mother in the doorway. Lillian’s face was crumpled, a sad arrangement of her features that distorted the familiar, favored the strange.

“Mom?” Jess croaked.

But her mother had already turned back down the hall, shaking with the effort of not wasting water.

Jess arose. “Mom?” She stumbled into the hall, where she saw her father shambling toward her mother.

“Go back to bed, Jess,” said her father, his own face lined with care and fatigue.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

Her father shook his head. Her mother murmured something to him—something Jess couldn’t make out.

“Your mother would prefer—” Jess’s father let out a long sigh. “It would be better if you stayed in your own room instead of your brother’s.”

Jessamyn watched helplessly as her parents walked away from her, her father sliding the door behind them. She stood for a moment before returning to her room. It was cold and dark and smelled stale. She sank onto her bed, too awake for sleep. She turned on a reading lamp and gazed about the room that had witnessed all her childhood.

Now seemed as good a time as any to gather the few things she wanted to take on her journey. She wouldn’t be limited by MCC’s regulations governing weight this time—they were flying with an empty hold. Still, it seemed foolish to take things she could live without. In the end, she settled upon packing only her brother’s wafer-computer, the small plastic card enclosing a hair from the planetary dog (also from her brother), and an old wafer with a collection of books she’d loved as a child.
Something to pass the time
, she told herself.

Still feeling wide awake, she forced herself to settle back on her bed and take slow, calming breaths. Now that she was no longer moving things around in her room, she could hear the murmur of her parents’ voices beyond the wall that separated them. Her mother’s voice rose in pitch, followed by her father’s gentle tones, forming for Jessamyn a sort of symphony that vibrated through bone and viscera and made her want to go to them and tell them how much she loved them, how sorry she was to be doing something they wouldn’t understand.

But she couldn’t.

Jess sat up. She wasn’t going to get any sleep here. She would fix everything tomorrow with her parents, after the celebration. She stepped into the front airlock, slipped on her suit, shouldered her packed items, and left her dwelling.

20

ACCEPTABLE ALTERNATIVE

In a small exam room in the
New Timbuktu prison, Pavel gathered items from the limited medical stock in the room, muttering under his breath as he cobbled together a desperate plan to save Harpreet’s life.

Nearby, Ethan’s fingers flew across the holoscreen of the powerful computer on his hoverchair.

Brian Wallace was engaged in flattering or calming the scientist from the satellite facility—it wasn’t clear which to Pavel.

“Doctor Kazuko Zaifa?” asked Wallace, consulting his handheld wafer. “The same Doctor Kazuko who organized the symposium three years ago entitled ‘Ancient Code: Toward a More Beneficial Understanding’?”

Kazuko nodded, adding a layer of “puzzled” to her agitated appearance.

“I regret I was unable to attend,” said Wallace. “However, your paper upon the late twenty-second century use of non-chronological elisions looks to be most instructive.”

“I guess that will be my legacy,” Kazuko said quietly. She turned to Pavel. “Doctor, I require no treatment for my arrhythmia. Red Squadron are on their way, and I don’t have to tell you what that means for someone in my position.”

“We have something better to offer you,” said Wallace. “I wonder if you would consider accepting employment from my partners at MCC. They share my interest in non-chronological elisions and their applications.”

Kazuko looked confused. “I’m supposed to be here for my heart.”

“Lass,” interrupted Brian Wallace, “It comes down to this: would ye prefer to go off with Red Squadron or with us?”

“I don’t understand,” said Kazuko. “You’re offering me a choice?”

“Aye,” replied Brian Wallace. “And that’s more than ye’ll get from anyone in red armor.”

“We propose absconding with you,” said Ethan, his hand flying across his wafer. “Would that be an acceptable alternative to interrogation and probable un-bodying?”

“You’re serious?” Kazuko stared at each of the three men in turn. “That would be more than acceptable.”

“I am ready when you are,” Ethan said to Pavel. “Everyone will please activate their earpieces now.”

The three men snapped their heads once to the right, causing Kazuko Zaifa’s eyebrows to raise in bafflement.

“Wallace,” said Pavel, “You wait here until Ethan gets back aboard the ship. When Ethan gives you the signal, take Kazuko Zaifa to the ship.”

“M’self and the prisoner, we’re to simply waltz out the door?” asked Brian Wallace.

“I am endeavoring to turn that figure of speech into a possibility,” said Ethan, his hands skipping across the controls. “But I must return to the ship to disguise the origin of the rotating algorithmic—”

“Never mind, lad,” said Brian Wallace, cutting Ethan off. “What about Harpreet?”

“I’ll take care of her,” said Pavel. “You three, get ready to leave as soon as I get rid of the guard.”

With that, Pavel wrenched the door open, shouting, “Why wasn’t I notified of detainee Mombasu’s allergy to
xenthophils
?”

The guard at the door turned around, looking puzzled.

“She’s got a level six allergy to
xenthophils
!” Pavel shouted.

“Is that dangerous?” asked the guard.

“It’s life-threatening!” replied Pavel.

The guard blanched. “She’s being held for transfer to Budapest. I can’t have her dying on my watch.”

“Then you’d better get her back here,
immediately
,” said Pavel
.
“No. That could be too late. Take me to her.” Over his shoulder, he called. “I want the room cleared out and set up for a full blood transfer protocol.” He turned back to the guard. “Let’s go.”

As the two dashed along the hall, Pavel quizzed the guard. “You
are
set up for FBTPs here, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, doctor,” replied the guard, his face still a pasty color. “Our facilities are minimal. What you saw in the exam room—that’s it.”

“That is your only medical facility? What century are you living in?” demanded Pavel. “Never mind. We can do the transfer on my ship.” Pavel tapped a wrist communicator that could be overheard safely by the guard. “Nurse Brian? Instruct Nurse Ethan to set up an FBTP aboard the ship
at once
.”

“Aye, doctor,” came the answering voice. “I’ve treated and released the heart patient.”

“Good,” said Pavel. “And I want a hoverstretcher in case the patient goes into
xenthophilic
shock.”

“Doctor,” said the guard, “A detainee transfer will require the warden’s permission. Even if it’s just to your ship.”

“I suggest you obtain such immediately,” said Pavel as the guard scanned the holding cell door open.

Pavel fumbled around in his pocket. “Five cc’s of
retriverol
should stabilize her,” he said, removing the casing from a med-patch.

Harpreet rose to greet the pair. “Doctor, how lovely—”

The guard interrupted, very distressed. “I’m sorry Harpreet. We didn’t know you were allergic to …” The guard turned to Pavel, unable to recall the name.

“
Xenthophils
,” interjected Pavel. “Pull her sleeve up for me,” he ordered the guard.

While the guard fussed with Harpreet’s clothing, Pavel stepped close to apply a med-patch to an exposed part of the guard’s neck. But before Pavel could act, a harsh voice shouted at him from outside the cell.

“Freeze! Hands up in the air!”

The three in the cell did as the shouting man ordered.

“Now turn around where I can see your faces,” he demanded.

Pavel and the guard turned slowly. All color drained from Pavel’s face when he saw the red armor worn by the newcomer.

The prison guard spoke quickly. “Officer, with all due respect, the detainee is facing a life-threatening allergic reaction. The doctor is only trying—”

“Silence,” barked the officer, eyes narrowing.

Pavel swelled with determination. “I’m a doctor,” he said. “The detainee requires immediate emergency intervention.” He waved the med-patch in the air.

“Guard,” said the officer, “Retrieve the packaging from that med-patch and hand it to me. Very slowly.”

Pavel felt his stomach wrench as the guard bent to pick up the wrapper. The med-patch was one used to knock patients out, not treat them for allergic reactions. Would Red Squadron personnel have received training in such matters?

From behind the officer’s clear face-shield, Pavel saw understanding and knew he was caught.

“You’re no doctor,” said the man in red to Pavel. He ordered the prison guard to take Pavel out of the cell. The officer followed the pair out, training his weapon upon Pavel.

Pavel made one last attempt. “The patient’s condition can only be stabilized if she is rendered unconscious, hence the med-patch.”

“I’m no fool, boy,” sneered the red-armored officer.

But as the officer stared Pavel down, recognition dawned upon his face. “
Shizer!”
he said, his eyes wide. “I’ve just found the Chancellor’s missing nephew.”

The secure turned to the prison guard. “Cuff this man,” he said, indicating Pavel. The officer in red then relayed the information of Pavel Brezhnaya-Bouchard’s apprehension on a comm line, nodding when instructions came back.

As the cuffs bit into his wrists, Pavel murmured a code phrase. “Without me,” he said. It was the instruction to Ethan, listening via the earpiece, to continue without him.

“What’s that?” demanded the Red Squadron officer.

“Without me …” Pavel hesitated, looking for something to make the phrase seem unimportant. “Without me, detainee Mombasu—”

But he was interrupted by the noise of Harpreet’s cell door, sliding suddenly shut. All three turned to look at the closed door.

“Get the detainee out of that cell,” ordered the officer in red. “Now!”

The guard tried, but he seemed to be having trouble scanning in. The door would not open. Ethan chose this moment to speak remotely in Pavel’s earpiece.

“Do you see a door at the opposite end of the building?” asked Ethan’s remote voice. “If you can see it, please focus your gaze in that direction, toward the surveillance camera.”

Pavel did so.

“You said ‘without me’,” said Ethan’s voice. “Am I to understand that you wish for us to depart without you? Please raise your eyebrows if the answer is
yes
.”

Pavel raised both brows.

“Harpreet remains in the cell, does she not?” asked Ethan’s voice.

Pavel raised his eyebrows again.

“I am providing a distraction for the guard,” said Ethan’s voice. “Get the officer out of view of Harpreet’s cell and I may be able to save her.”

This time, Pavel nodded his acknowledgment. It was too late for him. But Harpreet deserved a chance.

21

AIN’T NO SKILLED POLITICIAN

Jessamyn arrived at the
Galleon
and passed through the airlocks into the ship’s habitable section just as Crusty was preparing to leave. He wasn’t wearing his walk-out suit, which sent a shiver along Jessamyn’s spine. The ship was
truly
being prepared for tomorrow’s launch. She unclasped her helmet, breathing the
Galleon
’s filtered air. Her nose wrinkled.

“Never smells too good when you start her back up after a rest,” Crusty remarked. “We’re still on the old air filter, too. Decided to just replace the darned thing.”

He seemed undisturbed by Jessamyn’s appearance in the middle of the night.

“New filter’ll be here in a few hours,” he said. “Figured I’d try for some sleep ‘til then. ‘Less you want company?”

Jess shook her head. “I came here to sleep in my quarters. My house is … impossible.”

“Going to get noisy,” said Crusty. “I ain’t sleepin’ in here. Cavanaugh’s got some folks coming by to fuel the ship, switch out the spacesuits in all the quarters for fresh ones, that sort of thing.”

Jess felt a flutter of alarm. “Won’t that be noticed?”

But Crusty shook his head. “Secretary gave everyone tomorrow off for the celebration, remember? Hangar’ll be empty ‘til it’s too late to matter. And I might’ve done something to the vid monitors just to make sure.” He grinned as he said this. “But you’re likely to get walked in on, if you try sleepin’ in your quarters.”