Defying Mars (Saving Mars Series-2) (3 page)

Jess felt her heart swell with pride for her brother’s abilities.

“Course, they could use the lasers as another reason to keep you from takin’ a ship back up again. Considering what happened to the
Dawn
and all.”

“I got through the lasers once,” said Jess. “I can get through again.”

“I’m glad the darned things only fire at what’s trying to leave the planet and not what’s trying to get home.”

Crusty sighed and stepped back from the plants to pop his drink packet and ration wrapper in the recycle-mech. “Reckon I oughta head up to the bridge and see about these fuel burns you been makin’. Don’t want to be stuck doing some Jess-style landing come touchdown.” Crusty chuckled to himself and strolled out of the rations room toward the bridge.

“Jess-style?” she called after him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think on it a spell. It’ll come to you,” Crusty called back.

He must have heard about the landing which had gotten her grounded six weeks prior to the raiding mission. She’d disobeyed a direct order to abandon her malfunctioning hopcraft and made an unconventional horizontal landing minus her thrust engines.

As if she’d consider putting the
Galleon
through that. The suggestion was preposterous. Which Crusty knew all too well. Smiling, she realized it had been an uncharacteristic attempt at humor, at camaraderie. Crusty must be feeling sorry for her. She’d have to guard against moroseness in his presence in the future.

She tried to remember the last time she’d felt light of heart. In her mind, she heard the whisper of orange silk, recalled Pavel’s lazy smile as he’d spoken of his first time in an orbiting craft. How he’d lied about his age and how his instructor had colluded rather than turning him in to face his aunt.

You wouldn’t be morose if Pavel were with you
, said a small and knowing voice.

“Would too,” she muttered.

But as she returned to her quarters, she was already composing in her mind another letter to her Terran friend. She sat at her wafer, spoke the words, “Dear Pavel. It’s me again.”

There were Marsians who got along without a life partner, and Jess had always imagined she’d be one of them. She felt warmth rising along her neck, her throat and cheeks.

“And nothing’s changed,” she said aloud. “Nothing that matters.”

How could she let her mind wander to Pavel’s dark eyes when her crew was stranded on a hostile world? When her planet rested on the knife-edge of starvation?

No. She would never take hands with a partner in the Crystal Pavilion. Would not make the simple vow, “I’ll stand by you all our annums.” Would not even wish for such things. She was not some fool girl looking to find purpose in a pair of brown eyes. She had purpose. She was a pilot, and it was time she started acting like one.

She directed her gaze to the letter on the wafer and uttered a single word.

“Delete.”

3

THAT LIFE IS OVER

Until the night of his eighteenth birthday, Pavel Brezhnaya-Bouchard had two passions in life: medicine and fast ships. But that night, which should have been his last in his firstbody, everything had changed. Pavel had fallen in love with a girl. Where she had gone, he could not follow. But she’d left a brother behind. And she’d left, as well, the idea of her world, so
other
. In Jessamyn’s absence, Pavel found himself Mars-smitten; his obsession with the red-haired girl twinned with the hope of helping her world.

Already, Ethan had hinted at tasks left incomplete. To these, Pavel swore to devote himself. Aiding Mars would be the compass-star by which he would steer—the purpose he’d yearned for and not found. There was nothing wrong with devoting your life to medicine or piloting really fast ships. Until you found a cause that made these things look petty.

This, the girl from Mars had provided.

Aboard the ship he’d stolen from his aunt less than a day ago, Pavel awaited news from Brian Wallace’s conversation with his clan. What he’d overheard so far didn’t sound promising. Even Brian’s dog looked distressed at the exchange.

“It’s okay, Elsa,” Pavel murmured, scratching a spot under her chin. He hoped it would be okay, at least.

“Well,” sighed Wallace, having finished his call. “We’re in a fair pickle. Farewell cozy retirement, and all that.”

“What is the nature of a pickle?” asked Ethan.

“He means we’re screwed,” said Pavel, glancing over his shoulder at Ethan.

Ethan frowned in confusion but refrained from further inquiry.

“Your family won’t help you after all?” asked Pavel.

“They are at present disinclined to look favorably upon me choices,” said Wallace. “Particularly as those choices have landed me face upon the Chancellor’s list of persons wanted for questioning in regards to the disappearance of her nephew.”

Pavel frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see that coming.”

“I take it ye’re not thinking of returning to your aunt?” asked Wallace.

“Not a chance,” Pavel said.

“In that case,” replied Wallace, “I have an idea. A request, really. I’d ask ye to consider drawing up formal terms of indenture to hire me services as bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” asked Pavel.

“If the Chancellor finds us, I’d prefer to be presented as the guardian and protector of her errant nephew rather than as his kidnapper,” explained Wallace.

“This isn’t your problem, Wallace,” said Pavel. “I can set you down anywhere you want. Just name it.”

“Lad, me own family won’t have me at the moment. I’ve nowhere to go. I’m not scheduled to re-body for nine years and me face is everywhere.”

Pavel frowned, uncertain he wanted the blustering Scot as a companion. “Aren’t there …
illegal
re-body operations you could consult?”

Brian Wallace laughed grimly. “Aye. But they’ll make more selling me to Lucca Brezhnaya than re-bodying me. I’ve no wish to play those odds.”

Pavel realized he would face the same problem if he attempted to re-body. Or even get reconstructive surgery to disguise his appearance. “
Shizer
,” he muttered under his breath.

“I do not with to interrupt your negotiations,” said Ethan, “But I require assistance to reach the communications panel. It is imperative that I relay a message to the
Red Galleon
.”

Pavel turned his attention to Ethan. “Look, I know you didn’t have a chance to say your goodbyes—”

Ethan interrupted. “This is more urgent than a mere greeting. I have just concluded that MCC has no information regarding the extent of my success or failure upon the mission with which I was charged.”

Wallace shrugged. “Your call,” he muttered to Pavel.

Pavel bristled. Of course it was his decision to make. “Here’s the thing, Ethan,” said Pavel. “My aunt’s got ears everywhere. You send a transmission out to deep space, it’s possible it could be intercepted.”

“Ah,” said Ethan. “You fear that the transmission, if it appears to be directed past the regulatory boundaries, might be subject to additional scrutiny.”

“Something like that,” said Pavel.

“Then I shall consider how to cloak the message in secrecy,” said Ethan, attempting to sit upright. He began to slip out of his seat.

“Hold it, there,” said Wallace, reaching for Ethan. “Beg pardon for grabbing ye.”

“Touch appears to affect me differently in this new body,” said Ethan. “Which is fortunate, as it would appear that I will require frequent assistance.”

Wallace contrived a method whereby Ethan could be strapped onto his chair more securely.

“What he really needs is a hoverchair,” said Pavel. “When we stop to recharge the ship’s fuel cells, we can pick one up.”

“Excellent idea,” said Wallace.

Pavel glanced over to see Ethan’s one good hand flying across the communications screen.

“And I’ll take a look at that bad arm,” said Pavel. “Looks to me like the muscles just need reattaching.”

“Aye,” said Brian. “Can’t have the lad going through life with one hand tied behind his back.” He laughed briefly.

Ethan did not laugh. “Humans are capable of remarkable adaptation,” he said.

“If that was a joke,” said Pavel, glaring at Brian. “It was in very poor taste.”

Ethan frowned. “I am not an ideal audience for jokes that involve non-concrete imagery. However, I believe I can enjoy the humor in my situation.”

Pavel’s brows drew close. “You’re not really like your sister much, are you?” He swallowed back against the ache of remembering her.

“We share few traits,” agreed Ethan as he finished.

Pavel shook his head. If there was a boy-version of Jessamyn, it wasn’t her brother.

“The message has been transmitted,” said Ethan. “I have attempted to delay the receipt of an actual message by encrypting it in a rotating algorithm. It should be some days before the transmission becomes something the
Galleon
will recognize as a message intended for the crew.”

“Huh,” said Pavel. “Brilliant.”

“Further, if it is intercepted by your government, the message will appear to be merely a quotation from ancient literature.”

“Ingenious,” said Brian Wallace.

“Given additional time I could have created something to match the epithets you dispense so readily,” replied Ethan.

“Now we’ve got the goodbyes out of the way,” said Wallace, “I’ll just mention that the ship’s looking a mite hungry at the moment.”

“Hungry?” asked Ethan.

“Requires refueling,” said Pavel. “Lucca makes her drivers crazy that way. She’s always pushing to get underway with no comprehension that her demands have consequences.”

“She expects others to bear the burden of those consequences,” said Ethan. “It is a common failing of the powerful.”

“Yeah,” said Pavel. “You totally get her.”

Brian Wallace recommended a remote location in Newfoundland where they were able to refuel with relatively few eyes upon them. Pavel suspected the facility was operating without proper government permitting in place. But that suited his new life as a fugitive.

They left after Wallace acquired a top-of-the-line hoverchair for Ethan. Pavel tried to repay Brian, but the Scot wouldn’t allow it.

“Got it for a song,” he said cheerfully. “Unreported manufacturing. Tax-free, ye know.”

Pavel nodded, reconsidering his assessment of the man—Wallace’s black market know-how would be invaluable. The hoverchair in question was powerful, he noted, removing the shielding from its compact engine. Pavel grinned at what he saw and began the task of making a few modifications to the chair to allow Ethan greater speed and maneuverability. Tinkering with the chair made Pavel think of the limitations of his aunt’s ship.

“You know, we should think about swapping this ship out for something faster,” said Pavel, musing aloud.

“Faster, lad?” asked Brian Wallace. “The ship’s untraceable. Who needs speed when you can’t be chased?”

Pavel frowned. He might prefer something faster, but he couldn’t see how to refute Wallace’s position.

Wallace stepped close to admire the improvements to Ethan’s new acquisition. “I really should look into one of these chairs for me own self,” he said, patting his large belly.

Ethan, who had remained silent until now, spoke. “You ought instead to decrease your caloric consumption, and then you would not find the need of such a conveyance.”

Wallace laughed. “Aye, lad, aye.”

With Wallace’s assistance, Pavel helped Ethan into the hoverchair, explaining its responsive design. Ethan was soon comfortably settled.

“We should see about re-growing those limbs,” said Wallace, indicating Ethan’s leg stumps.

“We can’t,” said Pavel, his voice flat. “I reported the death of his consciousness at New Kelen Hospital. We don’t want anyone questioning that report when they start scraping cells and realize who he is. Word would get back to my aunt.”

“I am puzzled,” said Ethan, “as to the nature of your relationship with your aunt.”

Pavel laughed dryly. “There’s no love lost between us. Not anymore. Especially since I colluded with an enemy before her eyes.”

“Did ye now?” asked Wallace. “From my recollection, ye stood hostage whilst a crazed young inciter stabbed and drugged Lucca Brezhnaya.”

“I lied to her guards,” said Pavel.

“The individuals in question are deceased,” said Ethan.

“What?” asked Pavel. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve obtained information on many subjects pertaining to the Chancellor,” said Ethan. “It has not been difficult, given that this ship is registered to her. She reports the guards as having been murdered by the inciter known by only by the name ‘Jessamyn.’”

“We know that’s not true,” said Wallace.

Pavel ran a hand over his face. Those guards were dead because of
him
. “It’s not hard to guess how they really met their end,” he said. “In any case, there’s no question of my returning to Lucca. That life is over for me.”

“I understand,” said Ethan.

“I hadn’t thought about this ship having my aunt’s security clearance,” said Pavel. “Although, in a day or less Security will remind her that whoever stole her ship has access to her data.”

“You can bet on that,” said Wallace.

“It is not my intentions to place bets,” replied Ethan. “However, I have been cross-loading information to my chair’s computer which, fortunately, is quite robust.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Pavel, smiling at the holoscreen display on Ethan’s chair. “I’ve read about that Z-board. It’s powerful. It’s meant to be an amazing entertainment center.”

“As my requirements for entertainment are modest,” said Ethan, “I have completed modifications to the Z-board, freeing up a great deal of space, and I am in the process of retrieving as much as I can from the ship’s computer.”

“Good,” said Wallace, nodding.

“I have, in addition,” continued Ethan, “discovered Captain Kipling’s whereabouts. She currently resides in the intensive care portion of the hospital from which you rescued me, Pavel.”

Pavel looked at the data and frowned. “Brain injury,” he said. “Those aren’t easy to work with.” He ran a finger along a line of diagnostic code. “Still in her firstbody. That means she’s either in a coma or in significant and irreducible pain.” He placed a hand upon Ethan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man.”