Losing Mars (Saving Mars Series-3) (8 page)

Which was what had set her upon this midnight stroll. The Danube flowed silently before her, inviting her, calling her. Perhaps it was time. How she
wished
she knew whether or not either of the
Galleon’
s two missions had succeeded. She thought back to that night watching Ethan as he hacked into the satellite controls. Busy at work, Ethan had entered a state of being entirely different from what she’d seen aboard the
Galleon
. That anyone so hindered by the body holding his intelligence could accomplish so much—it boggled her mind.

Kipper paused, wondering how Ethan, back on Mars prior to the mission, had found the will to keep living. If anyone was
not
meant for life on Mars, it was Ethan Jaarda. Marsian life was lived in confinement of one type or another, and by his own admission, this left him in a state of discomfort that most would have called painful. She regretted that she had not been kinder to Ethan aboard the
Galleon
. Suffering had changed her. She wondered, if she had been trapped inside a body like Ethan’s on Mars, would she have persevered? Or would she have ended her life?

As she gazed into the black water, deep and swift, she felt cowardly. Ethan had not turned away from life because it was painful. Ethan had voluntarily undertaken a mission which he
knew
would heighten his discomfort. The rocking, moaning young man curled into the fetal position had not chosen to end his life. He’d chosen to endure.

What would
she
choose?

16

OBSEQUIOUS

The latest of the prisoners to be released from New Timbuktu and restored to sunlight of Lucca’s favor, Gaspar Bonaparte was an impersonator of considerable skill. Lucca had plucked him from a life of crime where he had, for large fees, rebodied and pretended to be someone he was not. Of course, even in her employ, he’d eventually gone too far, demanding too great a sum for the last assignment Lucca had given him. Hence his imprisonment. But as Gaspar had confessed to Harpreet when they’d met, he would do anything to leave New Timbuktu. Anything.

A knock upon her door brought Lucca back to the present.

“Mr. Bonaparte is here to see you, Madam Chancellor.”

A small, fair-haired man entered the room and made an obsequious bow.

“Let us dispense with niceties,” said Lucca. “You disappointed me the last time we met.”

“I’ve had time to consider the error of my ways,” replied Gaspar. “I will not make the mistake a second time.”

“You will not make
any
mistake this time,” said Lucca dryly, “Or it will be your last.”

“I understand.”

Lucca brought up pictures. “I want you close to these two persons,” she said, indicating Jessamyn and Pavel. “I need to know everything about their plans.” Which required of Lucca that she share the secret that Mars Colonial had survived—had, in fact, sent the girl to Earth with a large amount of tellurium. There was no sense in holding anything back from Gaspar—not when Lucca hoped the red-haired girl would tell him all this and more.

And Lucca knew how to make certain her spy would be
motivated
to keep the information to himself. Gaspar had no record of disappointing her in this way. It was the chief reason she had kept him imprisoned instead of un-bodying him. He was, quite simply, the best operative she’d run across in hundreds of years.

Gaspar spent several minutes consulting the information Lucca’s spies had gathered. He frowned. “The data is quite incomplete. You are asking me to infiltrate a community with no prior knowledge as to its inhabitants?”

“It is a cluster of renegades without scan chips. We know considerably less about them than we would like. That is why I’m sending you.”

“If I might make a suggestion?” queried Gaspar.

“Yes?”

“A two-step investigation is often more successful in a case such as this one,” replied Gaspar. “First, I become someone on the periphery—someone who can observe for a period of several days without drawing undue attention. Someone elderly usually works well.” Gaspar did not say aloud that if he made mistakes as an elderly person, he would be considered
confused
rather than
suspicious
. Better to not bring up mistakes with the Chancellor, although they were a natural part of his work.

“As a peripheral member of a community,” continued Gaspar, “I can ascertain who has the best access to the individuals in question.” He tapped a narrow forefinger upon the images of Pavel and Jessamyn.

“That’s an excellent suggestion,” admitted Lucca. “Major Vladim Wu will brief you on what we know of the community thus far. He may be in a position to suggest an appropriate personage as well.”

“A challenge!” Gaspar Bonaparte rubbed his hands together. “At last, a challenge. You have given me a great gift, Madam Chancellor.”

“See you do not disappoint me, Bonaparte,” said Lucca, fixing her ice-blue eyes upon the grinning man before her. “You know how I dislike disappointment.”

17

ACTING THE PART

Gaspar Bonaparte realized, as he walked in the direction of the desert village that would be his home for the next few days, that he had never actually indwelled a body this old before. Bodies weren’t allowed to age this far in the ordinary course of rebodies. Well, he was on his way to an enclave that didn’t follow the rules.

He held a withered hand out before him. The hand curled with what had to be arthritis, a condition he’d never experienced before. It hurt. He ought to have gathered a better supply of medicinals than the handful of sleep enhancers he’d stuffed in the old woman’s pockets.

Well, if he felt her pain, he could play the role better.
You know this, Gaspar
, he told himself. He remembered the old woman’s last words: “Gran’s not afraid of death. Go on, then, you great coward. Set me free from these aching bones.” She’d surprised him. Gaspar was used to outrageous promises and rather a lot of groveling when those whose bodies he required realized their deaths were imminent.

The old woman had neither groveled nor bargained. Accustomed to
acting
the part of a brave person, it rather startled Gaspar to encounter a brave person in the wild. He had filed it away, though, and would be able to incorporate this important character trait as he pretended to be Gran Odessa.

The old woman had been the perfect target: given to solitary walks at hours when others were safely abed. Gaspar had sent compliments to Major Wu for singling her out and suggesting her as Gaspar’s initial mark.

Gaspar supposed he ought to get used to gripping her pipe between his lips as well. It was the small things that could give you away, he knew. And the old woman had not removed the pipe to speak. Gaspar reached into the pocket where the pipe rested. Placing it between his teeth (or gums with stubs of teeth, really), he began to practice speaking whilst keeping the pipe properly in place. It was difficult. He had to catch at the pipe repeatedly as his grip loosened during some of the broader vowels. Of course, his reflexes were appalling in this aged body. He failed to catch the pipe twice and had to squat in the dirt to find it, his vision requiring a closer look to locate the tan clay pipe on the tan soil.

Speaking aloud had made him thirsty. How could he have forgotten to pack water? He patted the old woman’s clothing, smiling when he located a water-skin—
she
hadn’t forgotten. This time, he didn’t drop the pipe from her mouth when he smiled. But he couldn’t figure out how to drink while holding the pipe in her mouth, so he placed the pipe in an upper pocket and drank slowly. He had a recollection from his research of desert life that it was best to take small sips.

Gaspar felt very proud of himself for having a bit left still in the skin, when at last he came upon the edges of Yucca and could spot the first of the hummocks that he supposed must indicate underground dwellings. Intel on the area had been sparse, but he knew they all lived underground. Like ferrets or badgers or ground hogs. How very odd a way to live. Another wondrous experience to be savored.

Gaspar smiled. He had the best job in the world.

18

SOMEONE WHO GETS ME

Jessamyn was awakened the next morning by a loud discussion outside her bunk room. She pulled her hair into an approximation of the bun she’d seen Kazuko wear and wandered into the central room.

“Oh,” she said upon seeing Gran conversing with Pavel. “Merry morn.”

“Merry morn,” repeated the old woman. Her clay pipe was wedged as usual between her remaining teeth.

“Good to see you, Gran. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, actually,” said Jessamyn. She struggled to find the right words. “I know you meant to do me a great honor by picking me for your mystery-ingredient gatherer, and I’m, um,
honored
. A lot. But I don’t want the job.”

“You don’t want the job?” asked the old woman.

Jess shook her head. “Nope.”

“Remind an old woman: what job was that, pretty?” asked the old woman.

Jess frowned. “The lichen. I don’t want to be in charge of it.”

“Hmm,” responded the old woman. “And what would you suggest?”

Jess looked to Pavel for help. He shrugged. “Well, how about you pick someone else and teach them instead?”

The old woman nodded, removed the pipe, and chewed her gums for a moment. “How about you pick someone else and teach them instead?”

Jess hesitated, uncertain if the old woman was mocking her or actually making a suggestion. It didn’t sound like mockery. Jess nodded. “Okay, then. How about I pick Renard? He’s a citizen already.”

The old woman nodded. “Very well. Let’s find Renard together, shall we?” She rose and swayed a bit as she stood. “Let me lean on you, pretty.”

Jessamyn didn’t appreciate being called what she felt was a demeaning name, but she decided she’d offered enough offense for one day and held her tongue.

The two found Renard, who was very pleased indeed at Gran’s decision to make him Guardian of the Herb in Jessamyn’s stead.

Gran shrugged. “She said she didn’t want the job.” The old woman demanded next that Jessamyn show Renard the location of the lichen. As they approached the rocky outcropping, Renard spoke out.

“Gran, it’s getting pretty warm already. Are you sure this is a good time?”

“A good time?” asked Gran, chewing her gums.

“I mean, there’s bound to be snakes by now,” said Renard. “I know your circulation’s bad, but believe me, it’s hot enough for rattlers to be active.”

“Right,” said Gran. “Nasty critters. Perhaps we ought to return later.”

“Tomorrow morning, early, Gran,” said Renard, winking at the old woman.

“Tomorrow morning, early,” repeated the old woman, turning and shuffling back the way they’d come. “I’m bored, pretty. Why don’t you take me to see that young man of yours?”

Jessamyn looked at Renard who shrugged innocently. “She knows everything about everyone,” he murmured quietly.

Jess frowned, but she took Gran to see Pavel, joining him on a series of patient visits. Gran observed, nodded, and chewed her pipe.

“I believe I’m tired,” she said at last. “Would the two of you take me home?”

It was nearly time for evening rations by the time Jess and Pavel got Gran settled in her dwelling.

That night over dinner, Jessamyn was quiet and distant. She couldn’t stop thinking about Kipper. What was she doing here in Yucca shepherding old women around town when Kip might be able to save Mars from making a terrible mistake?

After evening rations had concluded, Pavel took Jessamyn’s hand in his own.

“Let’s go outside,” he said softly.

Jess nodded and the two ascended the stairs together. The heat had died back from midday, and Jessamyn pulled her hair up off her neck to catch at the bit of breeze streaming across the desert floor.

“You want to go get your captain, don’t you?” said Pavel, his voice matter-of-fact.

Jessamyn twisted a corner of her shirt round and round her index finger and didn’t answer.

“Even though no one else thinks it’s smart,” added Pavel. “Am I right?”

“Is it that obvious to everyone?” asked Jessamyn.

Pavel shrugged. “Most of them know you as well as or better than I do.”

A breeze ruffled Jessamyn’s hair and she sighed.

“There’s next to no chance it’s her, you know,” said Pavel.

“It’s this feeling I have,” said Jessamyn, dropping the shirt corner so that she could hold her hand over her belly. “Right here. I just feel so sure, somehow. An undocumented worker who
happens
to have the same first name as my captain?”

“I don’t think anyone but me suspects you’re planning something,” said Pavel, shifting his hand so that the backs of his fingers met the backs of Jessamyn’s.

She felt a warm shiver run through her and pressed the back of her hand more closely against his. Whereas her fingers were warm, his skin was cool, comforting.

“They’re all so sure it’s not your captain that it doesn’t occur to them you might think differently,” said Pavel.

“It occurred to you, though.”

Pavel tipped his head up to watch the night sky. “Going after her is what I’d do in your place.”

Jessamyn twined her fingers through Pavel’s.

“I’m not used to this,” she said. “Having someone who …
gets
me.”

Pavel’s hand tightened around hers. “Me neither.”

Jessamyn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Back home, I never had close friends. Not my own age, anyway. I’m not … I don’t know if I know how …” She broke off, uncertain what she was trying to say.

“It’s okay,” said Pavel. “I get it. Try growing up in the household of the world’s most powerful woman and see how many friends you collect.” His voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper. “Renard’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend my own age, and half the time I’m around him, I’m jealous he might like you or something.”

“That’s just silly,” said Jess.

“Well, I notice he’s not the one out here talking to you under the stars.”