Losing Mars (Saving Mars Series-3) (19 page)

Harpreet’s question hung in the still of the evening air.

Jessamyn whispered, “It seems like such a long time to wait.”

Harpreet nodded. “The time will pass, daughter. It is a little nothing. It only seems to you a long while because your annums are so few in number.”

For once in her life, Jess didn’t feel angry for having been called young. When she considered her own store of experience and wisdom against that of the woman beside her, she found herself lacking.

“This last trip to get Kipper—” Tears brimmed in Jessamyn’s eyes and she choked out a confession. “I nearly ruined everything, Harpreet. Like I always do. It doesn’t matter how good my intentions are, I just keep flying right into the next storm.”

“Child, there are people back home, sitting down to evening rations tonight, who would beg to differ with your assessment that you bring only ruin. Mars Colonial has enough food to last until the first rains fall, if all goes well. That was your doing, daughter.”

“I just want to quit making mistakes. If I could maybe see them coming, even,
that
would be a nice change. I just wish I could be more like you.” The tears spilled out. “Oh, Harpreet, why couldn’t I just leave well enough alone. What have I done? What will it cost Mei Lo? Or Mars?”

Harpreet placed a gentle arm around Jessamyn’s shoulder as she looked up at Mars, newly come to view. “That remains to be seen, dear one.”

31

WOULD KNOW THE DIFFERENCE

It was Jessamyn’s second bonfire in Yucca in as many weeks as a resident. She wondered where they found so much material to burn.

“Best not to inquire too carefully,” said Harpreet in response. “Although it is a remarkable accomplishment to render the substance completely odor-free.”

Jessamyn blinked, turned her head away, and dropped the subject.

Renard sat with his foster parents and foster brother about a quarter of the circle away from where Jess sat with Pavel and her Marsian crew. Among the adults, the mood was more somber than at the previous gathering. Children ran as before, willy-nilly about the blaze. When the small ones were called for and gathered together, Jess thought at first they were being reprimanded. Instead they began to sing.

With a sharp pang, Jess remembered the groups of singing schoolchildren at the Festival of Singing Ice upon Mars. The children of Yucca chanted a roundel, the eldest girls leading off in clear soprano tones that seemed to Jessamyn what the stars would sound like if they had voices. A group of boys followed the girls, voices nearly as high, some singing an octave above their fellows. The final group comprised the youngest, a blend of boys and girls whose earnest faces and missing teeth made Jessamyn want to laugh and clap hands.

The voices ascended with sparks from the fire, leading and following, echoing and repeating, until finally the oldest girls dropped out, and then the oldest boys, and finally only the youngest voices remained. One very small boy didn’t notice the signal to finish the round with his peers and sang a final verse alone, trailing off and then giggling in embarrassment when two other small boys poked him repeatedly.

It was sweet and innocent and made Jessamyn’s heavy heart lighten. As the children resumed dancing about the fire or returned to the warm embrace of parents, Jess heard a new sound. And if the sound of the children’s voices had been the murmur stars should sing, then these notes, drawn and low and edged with longing, would be the sound galaxies made as they spun through the eons.

“The cellist does not often perform,” Ethan said to his sister. “He is gifted.”

Along her arms, along her neck, Jessamyn felt every hair rise in response to the beauty of the music. A chill ran from her extremities toward her heart in a swift rush. She recognized the piece—some Earth music had survived the anti-Terran sentiment of the last century because it was simply too good to remain under a ban.

“Bach,” murmured her brother. “The Cello Suite Number One.”

Jessamyn lost herself in the soothing notes and her eyes drifted shut. She could be anywhere. On Earth or Mars or on a ship wandering between them. She felt like a thread spun fine and thin—as though she floated upon and among infinitudes of space. Gliding upon the music recalled to her the sense of limitlessness she’d known standing on the observation deck, watching the ponderous dance of the galaxy as it coiled about her.

And then a breeze gentled past, causing her to notice sudden wetness upon her face. Her eyes opened and the moment fled. She was simply Jessamyn sitting beside a fire in a place that was not home.

The cellist finished playing, and in ones and twos, citizens of Yucca stood to honor the remembrance of their missing friend. Jessamyn had been to memorials and funerals and life-celebrations on Mars: death crouched, ever-hungry, on her home world. There, as here, people felt their way through loss along differing paths. Some spent tears, some told jokes, some honored the departed in silence and some in speech.

Upon recognizing the voice of Renard, she looked up from the glowing fire.

“I spoke with Gran just five days ago,” he was saying. “She seemed confused at times and then angry with herself when she couldn’t answer a question I posed. She seemed to know her time on Earth was drawing to a close. I think what I’ll miss most is seeing her, outlined against the night sky, puffing away on that pipe, telling me to get back in the house.”

He smiled and looked down, scuffing a foot along the ground. “Some of you will remember I was quite a trouble-maker after I lost my parents. Well, Gran never lost hope that I’d outgrow some of those anti-social behaviors, and I guess I have her to thank that I did.”

Soft laughter made its way around the fire. Renard watched the fire for a moment where it flickered red and green and gold before continuing.

“Gran made an odd request that last time I saw her. She said she didn’t care what became of her flesh after she’d departed, but she wanted me to carry her cloak and her pipe to Mount San Jacinto where I was to burn them and scatter the ashes.” He held the items aloft and a sigh passed through the crowd.

“I’ll take the journey with you,” offered a voice.

Renard looked up, shaking his head. “No, no,” he said. “She insisted I travel alone. On foot. I just wanted to say I’ll be off soon to carry out her last wishes.”

A low murmur rustled through the gathering as Renard took his seat once more. He ruffled the hair of young Samuel, his foster-sibling, winking at him. A few more people stood to make remarks, and one read a bit of poetry, and then the gathering was concluded.

Renard walked over to Pavel and Jess and the others.

“So, Jess, you’ll need to keep Pavel racing-ready for when I get back, okay?” asked Renard. “I’ll be on foot, so feel free to borrow my vehicle. Oh, wait, you already feel free, don’t you?”

Jess felt her cheeks flushing with color. “I’m sorry about—”

“Just kidding!” Renard said, cutting her off. “No hard feelings. I love the new ride. Folks around here have been known to forget to ask when they borrow something. It’s the Yuccan way of life.”

“Hey,” said Pavel, “Jess and I were wondering if we could borrow a few tools for the big ship.”

“Big ship?” Renard asked, puzzled.

“Oh, no,” said Jess, remembering. “You can’t leave yet. You haven’t seen what I flew back in.”

Renard frowned. “I’m sorry. It’ll have to wait. I need to make fifteen kilometers tonight.”

“You’re sure you have to do this on foot?” asked Jess. “It’s not like Gran will know the difference.”

Renard smiled softly. “I would know the difference.”

“You take care out there, man,” said Pavel, offering a handshake. “We’ll see you in what, a week-ish?”

“Yup,” said Renard. “Assuming nothing wild eats me for lunch along the way.”

His easy laughter fluttered behind him in the night air as he strode into darkness.

32

NOT MY PROBLEM

Renard hummed as he walked east toward the mountains. Forty kilometers there and forty back. During his three days sojourn in the desert prior to becoming a full citizen of Yucca, he’d managed the same distance. He knew better than to attempt much during daylight. Fifteen kilometers between 2:00 AM and 7:00AM, then a two hours nap, then five kilometers more if he could manage it. That would get him to Mount San Jacinto in two days. He could move more swiftly when it was light enough to see clearly, but he would run out of water if he tried. Best to move at a slow pace during the cool hours and sleep during the hot days.

He didn’t expect to see anyone. Certainly he’d met nothing more interesting than a pair of amorous roadrunners on his previous visits to the mountain. So he was very surprised to awaken from his early morning nap to find a ship—a quite flashy ship—nestled at the base of some rising ground not far from where he’d lain down to sleep.

A smallish light-haired man stood to one side of the ship, hurling stones and insults at the hulking thing. Renard’s first impulse was to remain hidden, and he did so. But after an hour of listening to the man—clearly city-born—shouting at the ship, the sky, the hawks, and snakes, Renard began to feel a twinge of guilt. And he certainly wasn’t getting any rest with all the noise. The city-bred fool didn’t know to stay out of the mid-morning sun. He might die if no one came for him soon. Or if he didn’t have water.

“Not my problem,” muttered Renard, rolling over and placing an arm over his exposed ear. But then he thought of his own parents. Had someone said
not my problem
and passed them by all those years ago? And they’d had desert-smarts. They’d had a fighting chance. Groaning inwardly, Renard sat upright. Someone really ought to tell the little man that shouting while standing in the desert sun would make you severely dehydrated. Renard stared at his water skin. He had enough to share. Enough to give away the entire amount so long as he was willing to hike up and in to one of the small lakes he knew of.

He sighed, rose, and approached the stranger.

“Howdy,” said Renard, one hand loose at his side, the other offering his water skin. “You thirsty?”

The small man extended an elegant hand, grasped the offered water with long, narrow fingers. “Gaspar Bonaparte,” he said. “Most grateful.” He took several swallows from the skin.

“I’m Renard,” said Renard. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Gaspar smiled. “Oh, no. No, no, no. But I’m thinking of making an extended visit to the area.” His smile grew to a grin as he removed a weapon from his pocket.

33

MAKE A LOUSY MARSIAN

The next morning, Pavel, armed with Renard’s tools, set out with Jessamyn to assess the state of the Mars-class ship
Red Hope
. Jess pulled up a system’s check manual from the ops station, her mind touching briefly upon memories of Crusty as she did so. Pavel sounded confident, but Jess wondered how much he could actually do. And what, exactly, needed to be done.

“It flies, obviously,” said Jess, scanning through the headings and sub-headings of ship’s systems in the manual. “But there are a lot of moving parts here …” Her voice trailed off. How she wished Crusty were here to give the ship a proper once-over.

“Relax,” said Pavel. “I used to build ships from scrap before my volunteer hours in hospitals started piling up. It’ll be fun. And we’ve got, what, over a year, right?”

“Yup.” Jessamyn’s mouth pinched a bit.

“Is that a … pout?” Pavel laughed.

“It’s just, I never trained to do anything but a preflight check. Even on Mars, we have people who specialize in what you’re talking about doing. I’m …
ignorant
.”

Pavel shrugged. “I’ll get you up to speed. Think of all the fun we’ll have. I can teach you how to evaluate the simpler systems, and you’re obviously good at running through preflight.”

Jess felt color rising to her cheeks. She’d been reprimanded—often—for “hazardous attitudes” during preflight planning dispatches back home.

“We ran through all the obvious things back on Madeira,” she said.

“The ship looks great,” admitted Pavel, seated at ops.

“I think we should make a list of systems that won’t have been in use on Earth,” said Jessamyn. “Things that will be critical on an interplanetary run.” She could think of three without blinking. “Like oxygen supply, air filtration systems, and fuel tank capacity.”

Pavel shrugged. “Those sound pretty critical. You want to suggest where we start?”

“They’re all important. But I think we’re good on fuel capacity, now that I think about it. Cameron’s flight personnel said to me the fuel tanks for long-distance hauls were oversized and that they were surprised no one had tried to remove them. They said the ship must’ve been intended for carrying heavy loads off-world.”

“So we should be good on fuel capacity, then,” said Pavel.

“Yeah,” replied Jess. “We can skip the tanks for now. Let’s start with a look at air filtration. You wouldn’t believe what can grow aboard a ship on a long trip.” She shuddered. “And I imagine death by lung-rot would be quite a bit more painful than drifting off to sleep without oxygen.”

But when they went to investigate the state of the air filtration unit, it was missing.

“Gone,” said Pavel, pointing to the empty space behind the overhead panels Jess had removed. “How stupid is that?”

“It’s more important for longer journeys,” said Jess. “Cameron said this ship had been grounded for years.”

“Hmmph,” said Pavel. “Well, I’ve still got connections and contacts for parts.”

“No,” said Jess. “No way are you showing your face where someone could recognize you as Brezhnaya’s-nephew-who-fixes-ships-for-fun.”

“I don’t have to go anywhere in person. I’ll have Kazuko place the order if you’re so worried about it.”

Jessamyn crossed her arms. “I just don’t want anything to go wrong. I’m trying to …” she paused and sighed. “I’m trying to get better at thinking ahead. At seeing problems before they arise.”

Pavel took her hand in one of his. “You worry too much.” He leaned toward her.