chapter 9
LOOKS LIKE DIRT
The weeks following Pavel’s new alliance with Ethan and Brian Wallace were challenging ones. Pavel had never faced
considerations as basic as “Where will we sleep?” or “Where does food come from?” It had come as a shock to Pavel to learn that
he was financially destitute. He had credits aplenty, but he had no safe means by which to access them if he wanted to remain
hidden.
Ethan, of course, had no credits in his acquired body. Brian Wallace, however, was a very wealthy man, who had laid careful plans
to be certain he was never cut off from his credits.
Unfortunately, Brian’s wealth could not buy the three shelter from among his former acquaintances. After a few hours, or a night at
most, former friends confessed their reluctance to act in a way that would set them at odds with Brian’s cousin, the head of Clan
Wallace.
“I’m sorry, truly, but I can’t risk her disfavor,” ran the responses time after time.
“I’m fine living on the ship,” Pavel declared, stoic.
“Aye, lad, but he’s not,” replied Brian, indicating Ethan.
“I will adapt,” said Ethan in a flat voice that little suggested how difficult it might be.
And so the three lived on their stolen ship, using Brian Wallace’s credits and planning for Ethan’s attempt to complete his mission.
Something of a breakthrough for Ethan’s mental health came one morning when Pavel woke to the sound of a monotone humming.
“Eth?” murmured Pavel.
No response.
“Ethan?”
Ethan broke off humming and, after a long minute’s struggle, spoke. “I am finding confinement difficult,” he confessed.
From the rear of the ship, Elsa whined above Brian’s snores.
“You and the dog, both,” said Pavel. “Listen man, I’m sorry.” He reached back to release the lock upon Elsa’s crate. “This is no life
for either of you.” Pavel ruffled Elsa’s fur, but the dog darted to Ethan, licking his hands, his chin.
“Elsa,” murmured Ethan. Pavel had successfully reattached muscle, ligament, tendon, and bone in Ethan’s injured limb such that he
now had the use of both arms. Ethan dug his two hands deep into Elsa’s coat. Her tail thumped noisily upon the ground.
“The dog relaxes you,” Pavel said to Ethan. His years at the hospital had made him a keen observer of physiology.
Ethan’s brows drew close. “Yes,” he replied. “I believe you are correct.”
From that day, Pavel began monitoring Ethan’s wellbeing, offering frequent prescriptions of “Elsa-time” to his Marsian friend.
Brian noted the improvement in Ethan’s mental health with a woeful pronouncement. “Me credits come in handy,” Brian said, “But it’
s clear enough the real reason ye tolerate me is because of me dog. Ah, well. That’s good enough for me, I suppose.”
“We’re both exiles, man,” said Pavel, smiling sympathetically. It was a turning point in their relationship.
Pavel’s friendship with Wallace was cemented a few days later, following a disagreement over what sort of escape vehicle they
ought to use for their upcoming mission to the satellite facility.
“My aunt’s ship is a worthless piece of junk,” declared Pavel. “It’s time we buy something with some real muscle.”
“‘We,’ indeed,” muttered Wallace.
“Muscle?” asked Ethan.
“Figure of speech,” replied Pavel and Brian in unison. They’d grown accustomed to Ethan’s confusion over non-concrete
descriptions.
“We want something that can outrun security,” continued Pavel, growing animated. “Something with some actual power under the
hood.”
“There’s no need to outrun security with an untraceable ship,” argued Brian Wallace.
Ethan disagreed. “The need for speed could become more paramount in an escape situation,” he said.
“Exactly,” said Pavel, grinning broadly. “If they can’t catch you, it doesn’t matter if they can trace you or not.”
“That is incorrect,” said Ethan.
“Come on, Ethan. Whose side are you on?” asked Pavel.
“Figure of speech,” murmured Wallace.
Pavel rolled his eyes. “Look. All I’m saying is this ship is slow. And now, when we’re planning to break into a secure facility, is the
kind of situation where speed could be important.”
In the end, Wallace allowed himself to be persuaded when a ship was found which had the ability to jam tracking technologies.
“And ye’re certain it has to be this one, lad?” asked Brian Wallace, looking at the sleek, reflective silver of Pavel’s choice—a
Hercules-class flyer.
“It’s got seven times the power of Lucca’s old dust-sucker,” said Pavel. His grin ran ear-to-ear as he dumped the specifications of
the new vehicle on Wallace and Ethan. “Just look at her! She beat out the Novum Oddysseum by seventeen minutes in last year’s
Singapore Classic. Now, that is a ship, my friends.”
“Aye, lad,” sighed Brian Wallace. “It’s a ship that says, ‘Notice me, if ye please.’ I don’t care for it.”
“C’mon, Wallace,” said Pavel. “You don’t think the Chancellor’s ship says, ‘Notice me’?”
Ethan was staring at both of them with a puzzled look. “Figures of speech?” he asked.
The pair nodded in response.
“Sorry, man,” said Pavel.
“Conversations with the two of you are most educational,” replied Ethan. “Brian Wallace, the racing ship is approximately twenty
percent less likely to gather notice than the Chancellor’s luxury vehicle.”
“Ye don’t say?” asked Brian, surprised.
And so the trio flew away in a newer, faster, and very much shinier Hercules-class craft that afternoon, Pavel whooping at the helm
as he put the ship through her paces.
“Thanks, man,” said Pavel to Brian Wallace, grinning broadly.
“You’re entirely welcome, lad,” replied Wallace.
The two argued less after that. In fact, after attracting stares and whistles at their next stop, Pavel allowed Wallace to persuade him
of the need for something less visually appealing and consented to having the ship painted a dull shade of brown.
“It looks like dirt,” Pavel said sadly when they’d completed the transformation.
“Aye,” said Wallace, snorting with laughter. “So it does. Dirt. That’s something we two can agree on.”
Meanwhile, Wallace’s many connections with the underground world of activities deemed criminal by Lucca Brezhnaya’s
government proved to have their uses. The Scot was not able to obtain direct assistance from Clan Wallace to break into the
satellite facility. But through means indirect, the party of Brian, Pavel, and Ethan were finally equipped with scan passes, codes, and
intelligence about security within the building, which appeared to have been down-graded to video-surveillance and one security
guard only, if reports were to be believed.
The evening of their planned mission arrived. Ethan estimated that he needed ninety minutes to finish the work of redirecting the
control of the satellites to MCC. Pavel suggested they arrive between four-thirty and five in the morning, a time night-shift guards
favored for drinking the strong black Budapesti coffee known as kávé.
“Zussman—our butler—worked security when he was a twobody,” said Pavel. “He swore by that four-thirty cup of coffee to get you
through ‘til the shift ended.”
This led to another disagreement between Brian and Pavel as Pavel steered the craft toward Budapest.
“Lad, we don’t want security distracted,” said Brian Wallace. “We want them unconscious.”
“That is not an acceptable first option,” replied Pavel.
Ethan stepped between the two, figuratively, suggesting that Pavel was well-informed to know what sort of drug might render
someone unconscious with the least amount of damage to the individual’s person.
Wallace shrugged his agreement. “It’s more humane than striking them a blow to the brains, I’ll grant ye.”
Ethan, who had been researching medicinal methods of knocking someone out, made several suggestions and Pavel grudgingly
approved one of them. He didn’t like the idea of harming someone who could have been Zussman.
“You are a healer,” said Ethan. “It would be morally reprehensible in you to be eager to cause harm.”
Pavel looked at his long fingers arrayed upon the nav-panel. He had been a healer. Now he didn’t know what he was.
He brought the ship to a halt just one street over from the satellite facility.
Quietly, they gathered the few supplies they required. Then the two walking and the one hovering made their way in a silence broken
only by the sound, overhead, of large cruisers carrying commuters to or from work. The air was fresh with the nutmeg-scent of
something like fossil fuels or perhaps paint thinner. Pavel, who had been hoping to smell kávé, was disappointed. At the corner of a
neighboring building, Ethan stopped to wait, leaving him closest to the ship and safety, while the other two proceeded ahead of him.
Ethan had manufactured earpieces similar to those he and Jessamyn had once worn, so that the three could stay in communication
with one another.
When Brian Wallace and Pavel reached the narrow food-service entrance in back, it became Wallace’s turn to stay behind while
Pavel scouted out the building. Pavel proceeded cautiously around a darkened corner toward the room Ethan would need to
access. Having seen no one yet made Pavel nervous rather than confident, but he gave the signal for Ethan to cross the empty lot
and enter the building. Wallace remained to stand guard at the entrance.
Vaguely, Pavel wondered if Ethan would feel afraid approaching the place where he’d been captured by Red Squadron Forces. A
slow minute ticked past and then Pavel heard the hum of Ethan’s hoverchair.
Shizer, he thought. He hadn’t counted on the noise of Ethan’s mode of transport. The slight whine was a result of a modification
Pavel had made to boost power to the chair. Wallace had laughed at what Pavel had done, calling it overkill. Pavel didn’t see how
giving a hoverchair the ability to outpace most hoverbikes was a mistake. He’d have wanted it if he were reliant upon a chair to get
around.
But the whining sound didn’t give them away; the place seemed abandoned. Ethan appeared and immediately set to work upon a
flat panel lining the entire wall of the small room. Pavel consulted a chronometer and then left Ethan so as to stand guard in the hall.
The building was eerily silent.
But after some twenty minutes had passed, the quiet hum was joined by the sound of Brian Wallace’s voice in Pavel’s earpiece.
“We’ve got company, lads,” whispered Wallace.
“Shizer!” Pavel muttered, already dashing back to Ethan.
“Visitors! We’ve got to go—now!” whispered Pavel. “This way!”
But Ethan was gliding in a different direction. “Follow me,” Ethan said to Pavel. “I have memorized the floor plans.”
Pavel nodded.
“Grab the back of my chair,” Ethan called softly.
A moment later when Ethan put the hoverchair through its paces, careening madly around corners and down corridors, Pavel
understood the genius of having him ride behind. It was faster and quieter than running.
Beyond one open door, Pavel thought he saw a flash of red armor and his heart began to beat wildly.
We should be to Wallace by now, he thought worriedly.
And then abruptly they were back to Wallace. Who was pinned against the wall by an officer in red.