Read Online Defying Mars (Saving Mars Series-2) by Cidney Swanson - Free Book Online
Authors: Cidney Swanson
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Mars.
“Well, that is most welcome news,” she said upon awakening. She didn’t question the information, simply took her dream as proof-positive the event would transpire.
Which tended to make her even more open to listening to the sorrows and concerns of others.
To date, she had heard the confessions of not one but two individuals who claimed to have formerly served as Head of Global Consciousness Transfer.
The fact that their stories, told individually, corroborated one another made it hard for Harpreet to doubt what either reported. The second (Harpreet thought of him as Number Two) told of how he’d agreed to assume the body of the first and to keep secret this deception. The first (Harpreet thought of him as Number One) expressed dismay at having awoken in prison, in a new body, only to see his former body accompanying Lucca Brezhnaya as if nothing had happened. The same body had apparently now been delivered to a third Head of Global Consciousness Transfer (whom Harpreet thought of as Number Three.)
“She likes to maintain the appearance of stability,” lamented Number Two. “But her government is rife with instability.”
Harpreet nodded and listened.
The Chancellor, it seemed, had a predilection for sending top government personnel to this particular prison. The hard labor wasn’t as likely to be the end of you as, say, the camps in Antarctica or Devon Island. Of course, Lucca had no problem summarily ending the lives of those she deemed of no further usefulness. Or those who simply angered her on a bad day. The political prisoners in New Timbuktu thus had some hope of being of further use to their former employer.
“And it is your desire to work once more for so corrupt an individual?” Harpreet often asked those who brought her their confessions.
The answers varied. Some swore they would die before aiding Lucca again. (Harpreet even believed some who said this.) Others said they would jump at any chance to leave New Timbuktu. No one, however, refused to answer Harpreet’s innocent-sounding question. Harpreet was too easy to confide in.
Thus the Mars-born woman began to form a list of the stories of those who wished to see a different sort of government upon Earth. She had no means of knowing if her information would ever prove useful; she simply gathered it as one might gather and sort interesting-looking rocks back home. And at the same time, she appreciated the opportunity to be of use and encouragement to those who were part of her new life.
One day, she made the acquaintance of Kazuko Zaifa, a scientist who had formerly worked in Budapest at the facility governing the satellites circling Mars.
“They accused me of leaking information to inciters,” she explained. “Information which allowed the inciters to breach security and infiltrate the building.”
“Ah,” said Harpreet. “And you were innocent.”
Kazuko nodded. “But they needed to blame someone. From what I’ve heard here, the Chancellor does not respond well to scenarios concluding without blame and punishment being assigned.”
Harpreet nodded. “It is a common failing of the dictatorial.”
“I’m lucky to be alive, really,” said Kazuko. “And luckier to have escaped interrogation with the Chancellor’s office. Security just threw me in here after asking a few questions about how it was possible for my system to have been hacked.”
“There is a mercy, certainly, in the discovery that we—or our life’s work—might be less significant than we had believed,” said Harpreet.
Kazuko laughed softly. “I suppose so. If I’d worked anywhere that really mattered to the government, I’d be dead.”
“Indeed,” replied Harpreet. “My friend, you have never asked how I came to be here.”
Kazuko flushed. “It felt like bad manners to ask you.”
“You are here today as a result of crimes committed by me,” said Harpreet. “Should I find myself someday able, I shall procure your freedom. In the
“Well, that is most welcome news,” she said upon awakening. She didn’t question the information, simply took her dream as proof-positive the event would transpire.
Which tended to make her even more open to listening to the sorrows and concerns of others.
To date, she had heard the confessions of not one but two individuals who claimed to have formerly served as Head of Global Consciousness Transfer.
The fact that their stories, told individually, corroborated one another made it hard for Harpreet to doubt what either reported. The second (Harpreet thought of him as Number Two) told of how he’d agreed to assume the body of the first and to keep secret this deception. The first (Harpreet thought of him as Number One) expressed dismay at having awoken in prison, in a new body, only to see his former body accompanying Lucca Brezhnaya as if nothing had happened. The same body had apparently now been delivered to a third Head of Global Consciousness Transfer (whom Harpreet thought of as Number Three.)
“She likes to maintain the appearance of stability,” lamented Number Two. “But her government is rife with instability.”
Harpreet nodded and listened.
The Chancellor, it seemed, had a predilection for sending top government personnel to this particular prison. The hard labor wasn’t as likely to be the end of you as, say, the camps in Antarctica or Devon Island. Of course, Lucca had no problem summarily ending the lives of those she deemed of no further usefulness. Or those who simply angered her on a bad day. The political prisoners in New Timbuktu thus had some hope of being of further use to their former employer.
“And it is your desire to work once more for so corrupt an individual?” Harpreet often asked those who brought her their confessions.
The answers varied. Some swore they would die before aiding Lucca again. (Harpreet even believed some who said this.) Others said they would jump at any chance to leave New Timbuktu. No one, however, refused to answer Harpreet’s innocent-sounding question. Harpreet was too easy to confide in.
Thus the Mars-born woman began to form a list of the stories of those who wished to see a different sort of government upon Earth. She had no means of knowing if her information would ever prove useful; she simply gathered it as one might gather and sort interesting-looking rocks back home. And at the same time, she appreciated the opportunity to be of use and encouragement to those who were part of her new life.
One day, she made the acquaintance of Kazuko Zaifa, a scientist who had formerly worked in Budapest at the facility governing the satellites circling Mars.
“They accused me of leaking information to inciters,” she explained. “Information which allowed the inciters to breach security and infiltrate the building.”
“Ah,” said Harpreet. “And you were innocent.”
Kazuko nodded. “But they needed to blame someone. From what I’ve heard here, the Chancellor does not respond well to scenarios concluding without blame and punishment being assigned.”
Harpreet nodded. “It is a common failing of the dictatorial.”
“I’m lucky to be alive, really,” said Kazuko. “And luckier to have escaped interrogation with the Chancellor’s office. Security just threw me in here after asking a few questions about how it was possible for my system to have been hacked.”
“There is a mercy, certainly, in the discovery that we—or our life’s work—might be less significant than we had believed,” said Harpreet.
Kazuko laughed softly. “I suppose so. If I’d worked anywhere that really mattered to the government, I’d be dead.”
“Indeed,” replied Harpreet. “My friend, you have never asked how I came to be here.”
Kazuko flushed. “It felt like bad manners to ask you.”
“You are here today as a result of crimes committed by me,” said Harpreet. “Should I find myself someday able, I shall procure your freedom. In the
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