Saving Mars Read Free Page A

to the sand and sky, she cried out, “ Worst landing ever !” She bounced up and down several times. “And I loved it!”
    Unfortunately, the landing was easy compared with the news that awaited Jess when the rescue crew arrived thirty-two minutes later.
    “Pilot-in-training Jessamyn Jaarda, you are hereby suspended from all flight until further notice.”
    Jess felt her temper flare at the words of the helmeted officer delivering this appalling news. “I just saved a planetary hopcraft from certain destruction. No way are they grounding me. I’ll appeal the decision to the Academy dean.”
    She peered to make out the face behind the speaker’s reflective helmet. She’d been certain Lobster would come to find her or her charred remains, but the voice hadn’t sounded like Lobster’s. She felt a twinge of disappointment that her fate meant so little to him. And then, as she caught a clear glimpse of the face inside the pressurized suit, she felt sick. There would be no further appeal—she’d been sentenced by the dean of the Academy himself.

Chapter Two
    FOR THE LOVE OF MARS
    In the early days of Mars Colonial, surviving to another birthday had been an accomplishment worth recognizing. But Mars’s annual orbit around the sun took 686 Earth days, and waiting that long for a birthday felt wrong to early settlers. In the end, they kept to the Terran reckoning of age which resulted in almost two birthdays per annum, or single Mars orbit. Later Marsians stuck with the tradition because no one particularly wanted to give up their “extra” birthday.
    Today’s celebration of Lillian Jaarda’s spring birthday had been subdued by Jessamyn’s announcement that she’d been suspended from flight. Jessamyn would not be rushing off from the birthday party to training. She would not be dashing from training to the Festival of Singing Ice. Instead, she found herself with seven long hours before she could even think about preparing for the festival—an event she no longer cared about. Even her books failed to console her. What was there left to care for if she’d been grounded?
    “Make yourself useful. The solars need scrubbing,” said her mom, turning briefly from her algae pots to her morose daughter.
    The solar panels always needed scrubbing. It was a job Ethan liked, as it got him out of the house. And Jess knew better than to argue with her mother after this morning’s debacle. There had been an abrupt thank you for Jess’s water gift and silence on the subject of the suspension from flight. Her mother’s lack of response wasn’t a good thing or a sign of indifference. Lillian Jaarda had been a promising pilot—the most promising of her generation—and Jess now felt the weight of her mother’s disappointment pressing upon her like a malfunctioning airlock.
    Ethan joined his sister outside before long and the two worked in companionable silence. Ethan didn’t tell Jess that he was sorry about her suspension, although she knew he was. But it wasn’t a subject she felt like discussing. It was a gaping hole in the center of the universe and if she stared at it too long, it might suck her in like a black hole.
    “I am relieved the planetary dog will be at the festival,” said Ethan, breaking a two-hour’s silence.
    Jess knew that if she waited, her brother would probably add something more to give the remark context. The two continued scrubbing side by side. Their oversized home required more heat and oxygen than most houses and a correspondingly greater number of solar panels.
    “I do not have any of its hair,” said Ethan.
    Jess tried to untangle the path of thought that had led her brother to make these two statements. Ethan collected things. Ethan loved the planetary dog—the only animal on Mars. Ethan would be at the festival tonight because he was receiving another award for something he’d invented. This line of thought led Jess to figure out why her brother was thinking about the dog: Ethan was