Defying Mars (The Saving Mars Series) - By Cidney Swanson Page 0,31

Ethan. “I require her advice.”

Pavel nodded, heartsick for his mistakes of the last ten minutes.

“Oh, I do love a good rescue,” said Brian Wallace, rubbing his hands together with childlike delight. Then he punched in the coordinates of the “New Timbuktu Gold Processing and Re-educational Center for the Retirement of Criminals,” Harpreet’s last known place of residence.

13

HE WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME

Jessamyn returned home from her long conversation with the Secretary General feeling exhausted. She discovered her father and mother had put off evening rations for her arrival.

“You should have eaten,” said Jess, feeling guilty. “They could have kept me there for hours.”

“Well, they didn’t,” her mother replied tersely. “Shall we?” She gestured to the rations table where food and drink had been carefully laid.

Jessamyn sat in the chair that had been hers as long as she could recall, noting again the patent emptiness of her brother’s place at the table. She gazed at the date stamp upon the ration as she opened it.

“Your grandfather used to do that,” murmured her mother.

Jess looked up.

“He would check every bar for the Terran date stamp,” explained Lillian, her voice soft.

Jess’s father chuckled. “So he would.”

“Harpreet did it, too,” said Jess, feeling hopeful at her mom’s conversational turn. But then she asked herself, What are you hoping for?

She didn’t know.

“Mars will feel a smaller place without her,” Lillian said. “It’s been so hard. So much harder than I thought it would be.”

Jessamyn looked up. Her mom’s eyes glistened.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you and your brother both,” said her mother. “It’s good to have you home safe.”

Jess sipped her water. It tasted like dust. She carried her now-empty wrapper to the recycle mech. Watched the copper-colored foil as it fed slowly out of sight. She stood for a moment beside the rations room counter, uncertain whether she wanted to stay with her parents or just be alone.

Stay, she told herself. Stay. Sidling past her mom, Jess shot a hand out to give her mother’s shoulder a quick squeeze. On the table, shining in the softened artificial light, Jess saw two spots of moisture. Her mother was crying. Lillian Jaarda did not waste water.

“Mom?” Jess spoke softly, touching her mother’s shoulder once more. “You okay?”

Lillian took a shaky breath. “I want to thank you, Jessamyn, for making possible—” She broke off, shaking, and took a slow breath in.

Jess watched as her mother, lips pinched tight, drew herself upright, squared her shoulders, and murmured, “Please pardon me.”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

Lillian shook her head ever so slightly as if in silent dissent. “You made it possible for your brother to realize his full potential. Thank you, Jessamyn.”

Jess sat in awkward silence. You’re welcome, felt like an inadequate response. She struggled to find something better, but words felt slippery, elusive. “He would have done the same for me,” she said at last.

Her mother rose to leave, then turned to give Jessamyn half a hug. Without speaking, she turned again and retreated to her room.

“It’s late, Jessie,” said her father. “Get some sleep.”

Her father’s voice, low and soft, recalled to her the thousand times he’d spoken just those words. The thousand times she’d complained at the unfairness of having a bedtime earlier than that of her brother. She did not complain this time. She rose and when she looked back to say goodnight before turning down the hall, she saw her mother within her room sink quietly to the floor, kneeling, her arms wrapped about her mid-section, her mouth opening to form a low moan as her husband moved to join her.

Jess made her way to her brother’s room, where she lay upon her sleep mat and watched Phobos and Deimos travel their bright paths.

14

A TINY O

Lucca Brezhnaya was in a foul temper. Not even reports of the Viceroy’s waning popularity could put her in a better frame of mind. She’d had to discover on a broadcast feed the news that a building in the capitol—a government building—had been fired upon and destroyed. Spending the morning reassuring the public that it was a scheduled military exercise upon a defunct facility had not put her in a better mood.

Worst of all, the troops who had dared destroy a building within the pale of the capitol city had failed to bring to heel the brigands who’d broken into the facility. The Chancellor paced, a fearsome creature, within the confines of her penthouse office.

What was so special about this facility that it merited being broken into