chapter 23
DEFYING MARS
Mars shrank in the view screen as Jessamyn hurtled through the planet’s shallow atmosphere.
What have I done?
“Crusty?’ she called out. “I’m not cutting this comm.”
Silence.
She checked her heading.
“I’m on a straight course to intersect Earth’s path in sixty-four and one-half days.” It was more of a curved line, really, given the
constant tug of the sun’s gravity, pulling her relentlessly toward the center of the solar system.
Ahead loomed the Terran satellites. In moments she would leave them behind with her home world. “After Ethan and I get things
fixed up, we’ll have to stop calling them Terran satellites, you know,” she said.
But Crusty made no response. She felt a wispy fluttering in her stomach.
“I’m really alone, huh?”
Silence.
Think about what you are doing, she ordered herself. A shiver ran through her as she rushed toward one of the satellites.
“Hello,” she whispered.
The words of Ethan’s cryptic message played in her mind: You shall pass through the fire and not be burned.
Then, from inside her helmet, sounds assaulted her ears. Jessamyn heard the cries of emergency services personnel: “Two down, I
repeat, two persons down!” Her heart shrank.
But she had no time to agonize over Crusty’s fate. Abruptly, she had her own emergency. The Galleon’s monitors shrilled with the
pips indicating detection by the satellite’s lasers.
She cut her comm to Mars and initiated a port thrust burn, steering her away from the closest threat. Another set of pips shrilled. She
’d been detected by a second satellite. It was too late to go dark—could she make it past? She ordered another burn to starboard,
screaming past the satellites.
Her g-suit’s partial-pressure breathing forced her to inhale. Dark spots danced in her periphery as she moved her head to check for
laser-fire.
But there was nothing. The monitors continued to shriek, which meant the laser’s tracking systems had a lock on her ship. And then
the explanation struck her. The tracking system was still in operation—it was the lasers that weren’t functioning. And she’d just
burned how many kilos of fuel?
She terminated the burn, closed her eyes, and sank back into the pilot’s hot seat, calling herself by every unsavory name she could
think of. A launch crew upon Mars’s surface would have anticipated the Galleon’s monitors having fits as she flew past the satellites.
Would have told her to hold steady, not to worry. Would have prevented the waste of fuel. The g-suit forced another unwelcome
breath and she reached up to detach her helmet. She was about to throw it to one side but stopped herself. She had no idea if a
replacement was aboard her vessel.
She had no idea if she had suits for the three crew members she planned to rescue. Or ration bars for herself. What other idiotic
mistakes was she going to make out in space by herself?
A red light blinked over at communications, her brother’s former station. “Red Galleon, this is Mars Colonial Command. Do you
copy?”
She pressed the tips of her fingers to her closed eyelids.
“This is Jessamyn Jaarda aboard Mars-Class Space Faring Vessel Red Galleon.” She sounded very young.
“Please state your intentions regarding your unapproved launch, over.”
Jessamyn cleared her throat, attempting to access her lower register. “I am on a course of direct intercept with the planet Terra. I’ll
be returning next orbit with the Mars Raiders we left behind. Over.”
The pause before MCC transmitted again was a long one. Someone important was evaluating her admission.
“Pilot Jaarda, you are not authorized to attempt this mission. You will return the Galleon to MCAB immediately.”
She reached to flick off the channel but then stopped herself. What if they said something about Crusty? They didn’t. Instead, various
persons from MCC peppered her with charges of kidnapping a space-faring vessel, accusations that she was acting like an idiot,
and strong expressions of the board of directors’ disappointed hopes for her bright and promising career.
She collapsed her head into her hands, elbows resting on the display panel in front of her. What would her parents make of her
decision? What humiliations would they suffer each day they went in to work?
What had she been thinking?
The red light at Ethan’s station flashed furiously. Jessamyn rose and walked off the bridge. Dimly, she heard the continued demands
that she respond, that she return. She paused at her quarters, punched the door open, and stared but did not enter. Inside the
lockers, flung wide during launch because no one had been assigned the task of checking all door seals, hung a pair of space-
quality walk-out suits. Wrinkle-free. New.
“Thanks, Crusty,” she murmured. The hatch door to her quarters, sensing no motion, slid closed. She didn’t want to sit in her
quarters anyway. She wandered along the empty hall, pausing to stare into the rations room. Someone had Velcroed a full
complement of five ration bars and water packets to the small table. She moved closer, fingering the back of the chair her brother
had preferred. The table setting made her feel very alone, and she turned to leave the room. Which was when she noticed the
orchid.
“What on Ares?” she murmured, walking closer. It was Crusty’s orchid. What did he mean, placing it aboard the ship? She saw a
piece of papyra tucked into the base of the container. It was a note.
Set container in water every third day, one half packet wet ration. Talk to it. Wallace says it helps.
Crusty had entrusted his Terran prize to Jessamyn aboard the Galleon? And he expected her to talk to it? Jess shook her head.
“Forget it,” she said. “I’m not talking to you.” She glared at the flower.
Why had Crusty left his beloved orchid? It struck her as the act of someone who’d known all along he might not accompany the
Galleon.
Why hadn’t she thought of this before? Even without the unexpected betrayal of Cavanaugh’s team, the timing between opening the
hangar doors and the actual launch would have been tight for Crusty to make it aboard. You couldn’t just open the hangars and
expect no one at MCC to notice. He’d been willing to remain behind if necessary. To face the wrath of MCC alone.
In fact, seeing as he had placed his orchid aboard early, it would seem he’d expected to be stuck behind on Mars, bearing the brunt
of punishment as an aider and abettor of criminals.
“Hades, Crusty!” she swore. “Why didn’t you discuss this with me?”
Rolling her eyes, she snatched up the orchid and marched to the bridge. She looked around for a few seconds before deciding the
orchid belonged at Crusty’s station, where it could stand as a reminder to Jessamyn of his sacrifice. The thought melted her and
she sank into her seat at the helm, looking at the fragile flower.
“What’ve I done?”
The helm was eerily quiet. MCC must have decided they were wasting their breath. Perhaps they’d moved on to discussing her fate
privately now. Obviously she’d be expelled from the Academy, her pilot’s license revoked. Most likely, she’d be placed under arrest
in absentia. She’d stolen her planet’s last remaining interplanetary vehicle, effectively committing the largest theft in the history of
Mars Colonial.
All of which would be for nothing if she didn’t get herself to Earth. Settling into the pilot’s hot seat, she checked her heading once
again. It was off a handful of degrees, due to the ill-advised fuel burns when she’d thought herself under laser attack. She made a
series of small burns to return the Galleon to the correct trajectory. As she terminated the burns, she noticed something odd on her
fuel consumption report.
Frowning, she brought up a more complete chart of her fuel use in the forty-nine minutes since she’d left Mars. Then she asked the
ship’s computer to recalculate. The numbers made no sense. How could she have burned through so much fuel leaving Mars? Hadn
’t Crusty said the ship was fully fueled? Yes, she was certain he’d said that. And she was even more certain he wouldn’t have
allowed her to launch with inadequate fuel. It wasn’t the sort of mistake Crusty would make, no matter what the circumstances.
Painstakingly, she reexamined the quantity of fuel the ship had held prior to launch. She double-checked this amount with the
quantity the Galleon would need to launch at correct velocity to catch up to Earth. Her requirements while on her journey would be
minimal thanks to inertia—her ship would sail at a steady rate with no resistance. She might make a handful of course corrections
with small burns, but she wouldn’t really need fuel again until it was time to enter Earth’s atmosphere. Large burns would be critical
to slow her speed then.
The calculations came back exactly as expected. Crusty (or, technically, Cavanaugh) had loaded the ship with the correct amount
the journey called for plus the just-in-case buffer for unforeseen eventualities. Like a pilot misinterpreting danger from defunct lasers.
Jess shook her head at her stupidity and then focused once more upon the ship’s readings.
There were only two possibilities. Either Crusty hadn’t checked the fuel or the current readings were inaccurate. The first was
impossible and the second was troubling. She counted on her ship to provide her with complete and accurate data. But apparently,
some part of the ship’s ability to read fuel consumption was busted. It must have been something Crusty ran out of time to fix—there
was no other logical explanation.
Sighing, she turned from the readings. They were flawed, but ultimately the bad readings wouldn’t affect her ability to pilot the ship.
She trusted Crusty. The fuel was there; she just couldn’t see it.
It occurred to Jess that she might be able to pick up news about Crusty’s state of health or … otherwise. Her stomach knotting
uncomfortably, she shifted over to her brother’s old station. There, she fussed with the communications array until she picked up a
broadcast from New Houston.
She and Crusty had made the news, alright.
“Could it be for the purpose of demonstrating the laser satellites are truly non-functional?” asked a male voice.
A female replied. “No, Dan, I don’t think that’s what we’re looking at. Hang on—we’re just receiving a report that Payload Specialist
Daschle Crustegard was present at the launch site.”
“Perhaps he can shed some light on this puzzling situation?” asked the male voice.
“Unlikely,” replied the woman. “He is listed in critical condition at New Houston Memorial Hospital.”
“I see. So, back to the other raider—”
Blanching, Jess located a different broadcast.
“And now we hear that Daschle Crustegard has been removed to what appears to be a kind of protective custody within the
Intensive Care unit.”
“You know, Fong, what surprises most of us is the Secretary General’s decision to allow today’s festivities to continue.”
Fong laughed. “Well, it’s a planetary holiday. I don’t hear anyone complaining here. Who knows—maybe Pilot Jaarda just needed a
little fresh air, Sadie.”
Sadie made a wise “hmm” sort of sound. “She’s Mars’s youngest Raider ever. Perhaps the pressure’s simply been too much. Well,
there’s no pressure in space, eh, Fong?”
“I think that’s no sound in space, Sadie, but we’ll leave that to the science experts, shall we?”
“Sounds good to me! We have our raiding program correspondent here. Hakim, what can you tell us about the implications of this
unprecedented theft upon Mars’s future?”
Jessamyn rolled her eyes and cut the newsfeed, leaving an echo of the irritating banter behind. She rested her eyes upon Crusty’s
orchid. It almost had eyes, if you looked at it just so.
“What?” she demanded, staring the orchid down.
It seemed to return a baleful gaze.
“I’m not going to talk to you. I don’t care what Crusty said.”
But she did care, and she felt tears prickling behind her eyes. Jessamyn sighed and sat up a bit straighter. She was doing the right
thing.
A familiar voice blaring over the ship’s comm jolted Jess from her reverie.
“What do you think you’re doing, Jessamyn?”
It was Mei Lo. And she was angry. Several degrees beyond mere anger, if Jess was any judge. In the silence that followed the
Secretary’s question, Jess heard whimpering sounds that had to be coming from the planetary dog, Rover. Did dogs respond to
strong displays of human emotion?
“Answer me, by Hermes,” said the Secretary, “Or I’ll send someone up to blast you out of the sky!”
“With all due respect, Madam Secretary,” replied Jess, “You and I both know there’s no ship left on Mars that could catch me now.”
The Secretary launched into a string of curses, most of which were unfamiliar to Jessamyn, although their intention was clear as
fresh ice. When Mei Lo paused for breath—Rover now howling piteously in the background—Jess asked a question.
“Are you alone?”
“Am I what?” demanded the Secretary. “Alone? Why in Hades would I be alone when I’m dealing with a planetary crisis of
unprecedented proportion?”
Jessamyn didn’t answer. If the Secretary wasn’t alone, Jess couldn’t disclose the real reason she’d stolen the ship. She couldn’t
say, “Remember that secret conversation we had? I’m going to make sure what you said needed doing gets done.”
She couldn’t let Mei Lo could become implicated in the actions she and Crusty had taken. That might destabilize the Secretary’s
hold on her position. Could she tell a sort of lie of omission? Reveal only enough of her plan that Mei Lo would understand?
“Pilot, turn that craft around at once,” the Secretary demanded. “We’ll discuss your motives once I’ve got you under lock and key.”
“Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but that’s not very motivating.”
“Jessamyn!” cried the Secretary in exasperation. “What are you thinking, for the love of Ares?”
And it came to her, a partial truth, a possible way to explain, a tiny something Mei Lo might understand and which might even give
the Secretary courage and hope for the future.
“I’m on my way to Earth for that exact reason,” she said.
“What?” demanded Mei Lo. “What exact reason?”
Too vague, thought Jess. “For the love of Mars, Ma’am. I am going to retrieve my brother for the love of Mars.”
Was that clear enough? “My brother, who is a planetary treasure,” she added.
“Potions of Aphrodite!” yelled the Secretary. “You get your skinny hide—”
Rover interrupted with three very loud barks.
“Jess—” Once again, the Secretary was cut off by the dog. “Oh, good grief! Would someone take that dog out for a walk in his
hamster ball?”
“Have you received Crusty’s message, Madam Secretary?” Jessamyn asked.
“Raider Crustegard is in the hospital in critical condition,” said Mei Lo.
Jessamyn could hear undertones of anguish in the Secretary’s voice.
“He sent you a message, Ma’am,” said Jess. “I would suggest you read it, by yourself, immediately.”
“You are in no position to be making suggestions, young woman!” shouted Mei Lo.
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Jessamyn.
Speaking to someone in her office, the Secretary demanded a copy of Crusty’s message to be brought to her at once.
There was an extended silence during which Jess assumed the Secretary was reading Crusty’s message.
“Bells of Hades,” murmured Mei Lo.
Then Jess heard another flutter of voices from personnel who must have just entered the room. She could hear the Secretary trying
to deflect the persons who had interrupted her. Then, Jess made out the Secretary’s exasperated utterance of something like, Oh,
go ahead, then, ask her.
A new voice broke through the comm. “Jaarda, what can you tell us as to the disposition of the Terran satellite lasers?”
“Mars Raider Ethan Jaarda successfully completed the task of disabling the lasers,” replied Jess, eager to sing her brother’s
praises. “However, the targeting and locking mechanisms are still very much alive. Anyone who ventures into Mars high orbit should
be prepared for a whole lot of sirens and whistles going off. Just no lasers. Sir.”
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.