Defying Mars (The Saving Mars Series) - By Cidney Swanson Page 0,20
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