Mars Burning (The Saving Mars Series-) Read online

  But Cavanaugh had been ready for such an attack upon his character. He played the part of a shell–shocked brother at first. Next, his PR team began to call into question the legitimacy of the broadcast. Had it really been Kipper, his beloved sister, spouting such bitter accusations? Had the transmission actually originated from Earth at all? Cavanaugh did not attempt to argue the accusations. He was too clever for that. Instead, he called into question all manner of other related things until the media and citizenry of Mars Colonial were discussing whether Kip was alive or dead. Whether the broadcast was faked. And so on. The content of her speech was all but forgotten.

  It made Jessamyn furious, but there was nothing she could do except watch it play out. No one on Mars would trust anything she said: having stolen the Red Galleon, Jess had become the perpetrator of the greatest theft in MCC’s history. Harpreet had sent a message affirming Kipper’s identity, but Cavanaugh’s PR team had cast doubt upon this as well, dwelling on the fact that, in any case, Cassondra Kipling had suffered a serious brain injury.

  “Which grieves me deeply,” Cavanaugh had said. “But at least it explains my beloved sister’s confusion about the past.”

  It was brilliant and devastating, the ease with which Cavanaugh deflected what should have been a compelling attack upon his character. He was, as Mei Lo had said to Jess earlier, a very slippery fish.

  Jess conceded that trade with Earth was not bad, in and of itself. After all, by trading the rare metal tellurium for ration bars, Mars Colonial had staved off starvation for over a century. Crops on Mars made people sick, a problem Jessamyn’s mother worked upon back on the red planet. But until such a time as edible food could be produced on Mars, Mars would continue the practice of sending “Raiders” to trade the metal for food.

  No, trade with Earth, though illegal according to the No Contact Accords, wasn’t the problem per se. Trade with a partner like Clan Wallace was great; trade with a genocidal maniac like Lucca was a different matter altogether.

  Chancellor Lucca Brezhnaya had made her contempt for Mars and Marsians very clear upon the occasions when Jess had encountered the Chancellor. And Lucca’s nephew Pavel had confirmed that Lucca would prefer to ignore Mars until such time as the colony, believed to have died out, actually did die out on its own. She had imparted to Pavel over and over that Earth’s precious resources must be directed at solving problems at home, not spent in wastrel fashion to create new problems among the stars.

  So long as Lucca was in power, any arrangements made with Mars Colonial would be dangerous to Mars. And Jess knew that Lucca had plans to remain in power indefinitely. Mei Lo had first shared the suspicion that the person now in power as Earth’s Chancellor had come to power centuries ago and re–bodied several times, in direct violation of Terran re–bodying laws.

  The practice of re–bodying, repugnant to Marsians, was held to be normal and beneficial on Earth. The promise of a young body at the close of their lives encouraged Terrans to lead lives of useful contribution in the hopes of receiving the best body transfer available when the time came.

  But Jess didn’t understand the appeal at all. In addition to having to abandon their own bodies, the trade–off was a life pathetically short by Marsian standards—Terrans had to leave the young bodies they enjoyed at life’s end when they reached seventy–two years of age. A mandatory death sentence, thought Jess, while Marsians regularly survived into their one hundred forties.

  As she watched the trees trembling in the wind outside, Jess felt a shiver run through her own body. Her brother had to get control of those satellites.

  And soon.

  4

  Budapest, Earth

  Lucca Brezhnaya sat in her office in the ancient parliamentary buildings of Budapest awaiting the arrival of Gaspar Bonaparte. She tapped her bright nails on a tempered glass surface. Gaspar ought to have arrived two minutes ago. Lucca began to catalog the ways in which Gaspar could be made to pay for his tardiness, which caused her lips to part in the semblance of a smile.

  She was not however, happy, as Gaspar discovered when he entered her chambers moments later.

  “You’re late,” she said as he made a deep bow before her.

  “The fine individuals in charge of ensuring your safety chose to make a rather more thorough than usual exploration of my person,” said Gaspar, his face flushing.

  He kept his eyes averted, which gave him an appearance of humility Lucca quite enjoyed. She wondered if he knew this. Of course he does, she thought. He was a body–jacker, adept at altering his behavior to influence others.

  “Hmm,” intoned Lucca. She seated herself behind her desk. She did not invite Gaspar to be seated. “I chose to remove you from prison so that you could tell me, in person, your observations about the individuals you consorted with in Yucca. My nephew and the Martian girl are no longer of concern. But I wish to know, in your estimation, what role would each of the survivors be best suited for in the conspiracy to attack Earth?”

  “The supposed conspiracy,” Gaspar said quickly.

  Lucca lowered her chin and placed her elbows on her desk, folding her hands together. She leaned slightly forward, altogether predatory. “Do not presume to contradict me.”

  Gaspar paled in a gratifying manner.

  “Well,” he said. “It’s the brother you want to worry about, if you ask me.”

  “Brother?” Lucca’s brows rose.

  “Yes. Jessamyn’s brother. Ethan. He’s some sort of engineering genius. A hacker of considerable expertise.”

  Lucca swiped through a series of photos, none of which appeared a likely candidate for a brother of the red–haired Martian.

  “You may approach,” said Lucca. “Which one is he?”

  Gaspar pointed at once to the image of an elderly twobody in a hoverchair. “That’s the brother. Don’t let appearances deceive you.”

  “I never do,” snapped Lucca.

  Gaspar bowed in apology. “He’s obviously re–bodied. Although why anyone would choose a decrepit twobody is beyond me.”

  Lucca rose, pacing. She had assumed only one Martian remained: the dark–skinned woman who’d escaped New Timbuktu with her Pavel’s help. That another lived—the brother of her nemesis—and that he’d found the means to re–body…did it mean anything? Well, it meant one more individual for Lucca to track down and eliminate. She turned her attention back to the spy.

  “And this one,” she said, tapping the image of the dark woman. “What is her area of expertise?”

  “Harpreet?” asked Gaspar. “Honestly, she seemed remarkably unskilled.” Leaning over the holographic images, Gaspar indicated a threebody. “Now, this one is dangerous. Dr. Kazuko Zaifa. She was helping Ethan with whatever he was up to on those satellites.”

  The Chancellor brought her hand up swiftly, an indication to Gaspar to be silent for a moment. She paced along the wall of windows enclosing her oversized office. The Marsian Containment Program Satellites. She had permitted her interest in the satellites to be crowded out by other things. This was a reminder for her to see what progress had been made in reconstructing the language necessary to communicate with the satellites. Operation Burnout wouldn’t get very far without it.

  The Chancellor crossed to her desk, where she sent a brief demand for an update from the satellite language experts. Then she turned back to Gaspar.

  “Please proceed. What are this person’s skills?” she asked, even though she recognized him from their encounter on the Isle of Skye.

  “Brian Wallace? A shrewd bargainer. Businessman. Definitely in league with the Martians. Possibly their initial contact on our world.” Gaspar pointed to the remaining images. “The rest of these are native Yuccans. No prior contact with or interest in Mars or Martians.”

  “You are certain?”

  The impersonator nodded gravely. “There were three Martians and three sympathizers. That’s all.”

  “Very well. You may go.”

  “Go?” asked Bonapar
te.

  “Yes. Go, go. You’re out of prison. You’re free. See that you leave your current contact information with my secretary.” Lucca turned her back on the impersonator, her thoughts upon the four who had escaped.

  A quiet clearing of the throat interrupted her thoughts. It was so like Zussman that she found herself turning with something like hope. But no, it was only Gaspar.

  “Why are you still here?” she demanded, fists clenching.

  “There is the matter of my fee. If I may be so bold, now that you have so graciously released me…”

  Lucca looked at him blankly for a moment. She didn’t recall any irregularly large fee. In fact, she was certain she’d negotiated a rather modest amount…Oh, yes! She remembered. The funny little man had requested to be re–bodied by way of compensation. As a threebody woman.

  “It’s a hobby of mine,” he said. “Keeps me at the top of my game. And easy on government finances.” He winked.

  Lucca glared.

  “Forgive me for the familiarity of winking, Madam Chancellor. My last assignment, you know,” he said, bowing deeply.

  “Indeed.” The Chancellor frowned. Then she turned from Gaspar and made a comm–call to her secretary. “Make an appointment for Mr. Bonaparte with the Head of Global Consciousness Transfer.”

  Gaspar Bonaparte bowed once more and exited her office.

  Lucca returned to her desk. Brought up a holographic image of the red planet. Swiped her hand through it as though in reprimand. And then she smiled. Jessamyn was dead. The Martian who had been left in a coma was dead. And Lucca was closing in on the two remaining Martians. Soon she would know what evil plans the residents of the red planet had devised. Not that it mattered, in the end. She would destroy them, regardless.

  5

  Madeira, Earth

  Jessamyn was waiting to see Kipper, who was in the castle’s medical wing, finishing with her balance therapist. Three weeks had passed on the idyllic island of Madeira. Jessamyn’s bad dreams came less frequently, and she had created a sort of place for herself in Lady Cameron Wallace’s household. After Cameron heard Jess was helping Kipper ease herself back into a cockpit, the Clan Chief asked Jessamyn if she would be willing to show Cameron’s finest fighter pilots a few tricks.

  Jess had agreed, and this had allowed her to hone her own skills in the higher–density air and greater gravity of Earth. Of course, this was hardly likely to make a difference to anyone on Mars. Still, Jess was only too happy to help Cameron, the woman who had done more than any Terran alive to promote Mars’s well–being.

  Well, except for Pavel.

  Pavel Brezhnaya–Bouchard.

  Jess felt a smile warming her face. She had Pavel to thank for the fact that Mars Colonial was no longer facing immediate starvation. And she had thanked him rather well in bestowing her love upon him. Or so he said.

  Her chest and neck heated, her skin flushing with happiness. Many things were wrong with Jess’s life right now, but Pavel was not one of them. Jessamyn had never managed so much as a schoolgirl crush prior to meeting Pavel. Back home, she had intended to remain permanently unattached. Well, she’d intended many things back on Mars that looked unlikely now. But then she’d met Pavel.

  She had to admit being in love wasn’t all that bad. It was like having Christmas or the Festival of Singing Ice every day of the week. A happy flutter stirred in her belly every morning as she awoke, every evening as she lay down to sleep, even on her darker days.

  It was hope, she’d decided. The future couldn’t be all bad if Pavel were a part of it. Himself a naturally hopeful person, Pavel infused in Jess his own belief that things would work out, somehow, in the end. That the two of them would one day walk upon Mars’s red–gold soil side by side. Jess breathed deeply, catching the ever–present salt tang of the island air. She could do a lot worse than this life of passing days upon a quiet paradise far from the Chancellor’s reach.

  She looked at an ancient clock ticking at one end of the medical wing corridor. It was nearly three o’clock. Kipper would be released any moment for her flight time with Jessamyn. Kip’s progress was painfully slow. Whereas she’d once been a good pilot, now the simplest maneuvers were frequently beyond her abilities. She still couldn’t control a craft successfully on her own, but Jessamyn had seen small improvements in the weeks since Kipper’s surgery.

  The irony of their arrangement was not lost on Jessamyn, and she smiled as she thought of how much she liked helping the captain with whom she’d once relished exchanging heated words.

  “La plus ca change,” Jess murmured, quoting the words of her old friend Lafontaine, lost when the Mars ship Red Dawn had been destroyed by the lasers of the Terran satellites. The more things change, thought Jess, The more they stay the same. Hmm. That quote wasn’t exactly right for this situation. In the case of Jessamyn’s feelings toward Kipper, the change was genuine and deep, and, Jess trusted, long–lasting.

  When Kipper emerged from her session, Jess noted an enthusiastic glow suffusing her friend’s face.

  “Oh, Jessamyn,” said her former captain, smiling. “Do you have time to take me up today?”

  Jess nodded, matching Kip’s enthusiasm with a smile of her own.

  “Today will be different,” said Kipper, confidence in her tone. “I’m sure of it! ”

  “Let’s get airborne. ”

  Soon they were flying over the island, Kipper having managed a rather shaky take–off unassisted. But when Kip took the controls of the training craft, Jess observed several of the same hesitations, the same problems that had been plaguing Kipper since her surgery.

  Kip did not attempt to justify her errors (a behavior Jess remembered well from life back at the Flight Academy on Mars.) Instead, Kipper withdrew, growing more and more silent with each successive failure. And this worried Jess.

  “I’m getting worse, aren’t I?” asked Kipper.

  Jess had been forced to seize control of the vessel in order to keep them within the two–kilometer radius of safety. Cameron had warned Jess repeatedly against breaching the restrictive barrier, beyond which the island’s defenses were useless.

  “Well?” asked Kip. “Am I getting worse by your estimation?”

  Jess frowned. “Don’t think of it that way. You’re having an off–day. It happens to everyone.”

  “Not to you,” Kip said softly.

  Jessamyn felt her skin flushing. “I have my off–days,” she said quickly. “And they usually involve a lot worse than slipping during a turn. As you know very well.”

  Kipper didn’t reply.

  The lack of a dig or jab aimed at Jess made her worry more about Kip’s state of mind than anything else.

  “Let’s call it a day and head back to the castle,” said Jess.

  After an extended silence between the two, Jess murmured, “It will all come back, when the time is right.”

  Kipper grunted.

  “The physician said you needed more time.”

  The former captain of the Red Galleon let out an exaggerated sigh. “He’s been saying that for four weeks now.”

  “Well, your headaches are gone—that’s progress. And anyway, a month’s not much time when it comes to brain injury,” said Jess. “At least, that’s what Ethan said. He’s researched several cases like yours—”

  “I know,” said Kip, cutting her friend off mid–speech with a wave of her hand. “And I appreciate it. But I don’t find those comparisons helpful. ”

  Jess nodded. She had read some of Ethan’s findings, which spoke of painfully slow recoveries. In Kip’s shoes, Jess would’ve been discouraged as well. But Kipper was stubborn and strong. She would will herself back to her full abilities. Jessamyn felt it with certainty.

  “You bring us down,” said Jess, her hands ready to take back the controls at a moment’s notice.

  Kip gave a single nod of acknowledgement and brought the craft shakily to the forecourt of the castle. It was not her best landing and they both knew i
t.

  “Better than last week,” said Jess at last, noting the engine stress on the port side.

  “It was an awful landing,” Kip retorted. “I did better as a four–annum–old child landing my Sand Flea for the first time.”

  “You had a Sand Flea too, huh?” asked Jess.

  “Still do, back home.” Kipper’s face softened. “I loved that little cycler.”

  “I blew mine up,” said Jess. “On accident.”

  Kip shook her head. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  The two stared at one another for a few seconds and then burst out laughing.

  “Thank you, pilot,” said Kipper, at last. “Thanks for working with me.”

  “It’s an honor, sir,” said Jess. One side of her mouth quirked ever–so–slightly as she tried not to smile.

  When the two had first served together on the Red Galleon, Jessamyn, knowing full well Kipper preferred the more correct “ma’am,” had insisted upon referring to her captain as “sir.”

  Jess gave Kipper a quick squeeze around the shoulders. “It’ll all come back. You’ll see.”

  Kipper nodded briefly as the two entered the Great Hall. Although it wasn’t mealtime, the dining table was full of the other Marsians and sympathizers.

  Jess frowned as she walked toward the group. From beside the oversized fire place, Cameron Wallace rose, eagerly greeting Jessamyn.

  “Been wondering how much longer you’d be gone,” said the Clan Leader, grinning broadly at Jess.

  “We go at Kipper’s pace,” answered Jess.

  “As ye should, as ye should.” Cameron replied. “Well, I’ve called for a meeting between yer people and mine, as it were. Will ye be seated?”

  “Of course,” said Jess, a cold sensation filling her belly. What had happened while she’d been up flying?

  6

  Budapest, Earth

  It was a pun that set Vladim Wu, newly appointed head of the Martian Detoxification Unit of the (also new) Department of Global Planetary Security, on course to the isle of Madeira.