Defying Mars (Saving Mars Series-2) (20 page)

She wondered if anyone would thank her for this information.

They didn’t.

“I have pressing matters to attend to,” said Mei Lo. “But listen to me very carefully.” She paused. “Jaarda, I want you to think long and hard about every promise you ever made to me. My government
cannot
support the path you are choosing, and MCC demands that you bring the
Galleon
back home
now
. Mei Lo out.”

Jessamyn was not offered the chance to say goodbye. Or that she was sorry. Or that she wished things could have gone differently. No, she was summarily cut off from conversation with the woman she most admired and respected on Mars.

It hurt, but Jess told herself she ought to have expected it. She queued up a recording of the conversation so she could listen to it again.

Jaarda, I want you to think about every promise you ever made to me
, the Secretary said.

Jessamyn could think of only two specific promises—one old and one new. She had promised to bring back ration bars (the old promise) and she’d promised to keep to herself the secret about Terran corruption in the Re-bodying Program (the new promise.) Well, she’d made good on the first and would certainly keep the second one.

She listened to the end of the conversation once more. There it was, the strange way Mei Lo admonished her. Instead of making the appeal personal, Mei Lo had referenced the government of Mars Colonial.

She replayed the section.

“
My government cannot support the path you are choosing, and MCC strongly advises you to bring the
Galleon
back home now.
”

That was curious. Mei Lo would have known that a personal appeal would hold a lot more water with Jess. And then it struck her. Like Jessamyn, the Secretary had wished to convey more than could be said with so many listening ears in the room. Mei Lo seemed to be telling Jess that the
government
of Mars Colonial disapproved Jess’s action.

But she doesn’t,
realized Jess. Mei Lo knew exactly why Jess was returning to Earth and what she hoped to accomplish by rescuing Ethan. And while the Secretary could not say aloud that she approved Jessamyn’s course of action, Jess heard the unspoken blessing suspended between the spoken words and caught at it like a child clutching at carbon snowfall on a winter’s night.

She felt the swelling of courage inside. She would
not
let the Secretary down this time. Mei Lo recognized what Jessamyn knew: defying Mars was the only way she could hope to save it.

24

FOR HARPREET

The officer in red armor beside Pavel was speaking quietly into his comm. “How much longer?”

The two had been trapped in a corridor between locked doors for several minutes following Pavel’s conversation with his aunt. Pavel surmised she’d been shown video footage revealing that her nephew was, in fact, acting in collusion with Brian Wallace. Pavel felt grateful Jessamyn was millions of kilometers from his aunt.

“I’ll try the door again,” said Pavel, rising and walking calmly to the door that led
away
from Harpreet’s cell.

“Stop right there,” warned the officer, breaking off from his comm line conversation.

But Pavel pretended he hadn’t heard. Because inside his earpiece, Pavel had just received instructions from Ethan.

“Proceed to the door on your right,” said Ethan. “I will open it and then lock it behind you.”

“I said stop! You! Brezhnaya-Bouchard!”

Pavel did not stop. He hoped the officer didn’t have orders to “shoot the nephew if he runs.” Even more, he hoped Ethan was serious about the door opening. Pavel broke into a run as the officer started to chase him. Either the door would open or Pavel would have a badly broken nose very soon. He pushed himself faster. Just as he was about to collide with the door, it slid open. He reached the other side, panting, and it clanged shut behind him.

To his right, Pavel beheld a mass of people—detainees by their clothing—striding along the corridor.

“What?” he muttered to himself.

“Doctor!” called Kazuko Zaifa, beckoning Pavel.

Pavel slid in beside Brian Wallace, Harpreet, and Kazuko.

“We break left at the next turn,” murmured Brian Wallace to Pavel.

“Okay,” said Pavel, his heart racing from the run and the unexpected prospect of salvation.

“Now,” called Brian.

The four detached from the mob and dashed left to a corridor with a door leading to the outside.

“This way,” said Brian, tugging at Pavel.

The door to the outside retracted, but on the other side stood a guard who looked very much surprised by both the door’s opening and the presence of the four behind the door.

“Good day, Jonathan,” said Harpreet, who apparently knew the guard by name.

“What’s going on?” Jonathan asked, taking in the prison garb and medical insignia of the four behind him.

“Arrest them!” came a voice from somewhere behind them.

Pavel turned to look and saw the crowd swelling around the corner the four had just slipped past.

“Arrest the doctor!” came the cry from somewhere behind the crowd.

The confused guard shifted his weapon. “You heard them, ma’am,” Jonathan said to Harpreet. “I can’t let you pass.”

She smiled and patted his forearm. “You must do what you feel is right, of course.”

“Let me through,” demanded a guard from the back of the crowd. “Or we start shooting!”

Half the crowd drew back like water toward a drain. The other half stood their ground, protecting Harpreet Mombasu. The old woman’s name was upon many tongues, a susurration, an inspiration.

“Go!” cried a prisoner from the front of the crowd. Along with two others, he hurtled toward Jonathan, knocking the gun from the guard’s grip. Others rushed to tackle the hapless guard, crying, “For Harpreet!”

A handful of shots rang out and pandemonium ensued, the crowd surging forward and then shrinking back.

“You heard the man,” said Brian Wallace to his companions. “Let’s
go
!”

Harpreet called a hurried, “Have pity on Jonathan,” to the surging crowd before dashing outside.

As soon as the four cleared the exit from the building, the door slammed shut behind them. They ran to the dirt-brown ship awaiting them and clambered aboard, Pavel throwing himself into the pilot’s seat.

“Hold tight!” he called.

Ethan was able to keep the prison doors jammed until the swift ship was several kilometers from New Timbuktu. It was a head start they put to good use, fleeing as if some devil were after them.

Or, thought Pavel, as if his aunt was after them. It amounted to much the same thing, he mused.

Pavel called out to Ethan, “You’re a hacking genius, man!”

“So my sister has often told me,” replied Ethan.

At the mention of Jessamyn, Pavel felt his heart fold over on itself. The smile faded from his face and he fought off memories of the girl in the orange dress, laughing beside him. She’d probably forgotten him by now. He busied himself with the ship’s navigation.

Ethan continued. “It is almost certain the Chancellor will have requested Cassondra Kipling be brought in for interrogation. Should we not make the attempt to abduct her as well?”

“Oh, dear,” said Brian Wallace. “Sounds like we’re headed back to the capitol, then?”

But when Ethan brought up information showing Kipper’s new location at the
Dunakeszi Hospital and Clinic for Brain Injury
, Pavel flat out refused to attempt her rescue.

“Seems a bit heartless, lad, don’t you think?” asked Brian Wallace.

“No,” argued Pavel. “Look at these records. She’s comatose. My aunt won’t get anywhere trying to question her. And I don’t have the equipment or personnel to handle a patient requiring this level of care. She’s safest where she is. If we attempt to move her, she could die.” He glanced over to Ethan and Harpreet. “I’m sorry. But she’s getting state-of-the-art care at Dunakeszi.”

“How is your aunt likely to deal with a prisoner in Captain Kipling’s state?” asked Harpreet.

Pavel frowned. “She’ll rage and fume at the physician in charge, but once she learns nothing can be done, she’ll forget all about her. Move on to the next big thing.”

Harpreet sighed. “In that case, I am forced to agree it would be in the captain’s best interest for us to leave her in the hospital for now.”

“That’s settled, then,” said Pavel. “So what’s next?”

Harpreet smiled. “Dr. Zaifa has been telling me some very interesting things about the languages used to communicate with the deep-space satellites circling Mars.”

Pavel blinked in surprise. “She knows where you’re from?”

“And she is interested in helping us,” replied Harpreet.

Pavel shook his head. Harpreet had a remarkable effect on people.

Dr. Zaifa spoke. “I’m certain I can recreate the code necessary for communication with the satellites. Only a reasonably robust computing system would be required. However, I must caution you against simply sending the information to the extant deep-space satellite dishes.”

“The Terran government monitors those transmissions,” Ethan said.

“Exactly,” replied Kazuko. “You would be better served by building your own dishes.”

“Oh, sure,” said Pavel, rolling his eyes. “Because there are so many retailers selling do-it-yourself satellite dish kits for use in deep space.”

Brian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Actually,” he said. “I know of an enclave where this sort of thing could be built.”

“Enclave?” asked Pavel.

“They like to keep their heads low,” replied Brian Wallace. “Not the friendliest of folk, mind, but open to economic opportunities
outside
those normally sanctioned by Lucca Brezhnaya’s government.”

“A black market,” said Pavel.

“Well, they prefer to be called independent traders,” said Wallace. “Shall I contact them?”

Pavel deferred to Ethan, who in turn deferred to Harpreet.

“That would be lovely,” she said.

25

NEVER GET AHEAD

The range of Lucca Brezhnaya’s emotional states had severely contracted through the centuries. She had attempted to eliminate all strong emotion, but anger remained and revealed itself in either a white-hot rage or ice-cold calculation. In her rages, Lucca killed things, destroyed things. In her cooler moments, she plotted destruction, carefully weighing the many possibilities before her.

She considered it very unfair that so much of her time had to be devoted to destruction. All she’d ever wanted was to cultivate her world as would a careful gardener his garden. But if weeds and weevils crept in, they must be burned or squashed. How else could one ensure a healthy garden?

Once, when Zussman had lain ill, Lucca had ventured to a café for her morning coffee. She’d been struck by something she’d overheard. A housefrau was complaining to a friend:
I can never get ahead. No matter how many times I sweep the floor, there’s always a fresh mess the next day.
Lucca sympathized. As well, she felt good about her empathy; the fact that she could empathize meant she was still human. She was simply a common human Writ Large, was she not?

She sighed, tapping her dark red nails upon her desk.

Today she was in a cool mood. She was angry, certainly, but in an icy way that her staff often mistook for calm.
Look how well she’s handling her nephew’s betrayal
, they murmured. Somehow, word had leaked out that all was not well between aunt and nephew. She would have to see to eliminating further leakage. But right now she needed to see to Pavel.

So. He refused to come home.

Very well. Lucca knew how to communicate with him over space and time. She smiled. She brought up a listing of all the hospitals at which Pavel had volunteered the past five years. Of course, he’d logged the most actual
hours
at New Kelen here in Budapest. Lucca sighed. It was tempting. But, no, she would not risk making her government look weak by arranging an attack upon a hospital in the capitol city.

No, the destruction of one building in Budapest had been quite enough,
thank you very much dear nephew of mine,
she thought, bringing her palm down upon a tiny spider crossing her desk.

At first she’d not known he’d been at the Martian satellite facility. When she’d learned of it, she momentarily wondered if Pavel’s only goal had been to destroy something, anything, in the capitol city as a way to strike at her. But this possibility had been swiftly eliminated by the fact that he’d chosen to steal away from New Timbuktu with Kazuko and the other inciter.

No, he was involved in the group secretly planning to visit Mars. She was sure of it now. He wanted an adventure, or tellurium wealth, or simply to do something he knew his aunt wouldn’t like.

Of course, she reassured herself, he could have no way of knowing
why
she wouldn’t like it.

She needed to communicate to him swiftly. To nip this little Mars venture in the bud. She stood and paced—thinking, considering. And then she remembered a tiny something about one of the hospitals. Hadn’t he persuaded her one Christmas to make an excessive donation to one of them? Yes, she was certain. He’d declined interest in any gifts for himself that year, asking only for this charity.

She returned to her desk. There it was. The Hospital for Mental Illness and Recovering Minds. It was an elegant choice as well; if you were going to create a shortage of bodies for the Re-body Program, best do it by eliminating those least deserving of re-bodying. Paris had been a mistake in that regard. The Re-body Program had lost some very healthy bodies that day.

She called in the two members of Red Squadron who had failed her so miserably at New Timbuktu, glad she’d spared their lives after all.

“The pair of you are volunteering for a special mission. I’m in need of a few …
committed
inciters,” she said. The two officers glanced at one another as if to say, “
Did she just say what I think she said?
”