Blind Hope

“Jasmine, are you sure that there’s nothing I can say to get you to change your mind?” Mark asked through the small hard-light screen of her hand-terminal.

“You think I wanted to up and pull roots again?” Jasmine countered. “I just spent the last two days trying to get my damage deposit back after breaking a two-year lease I was four months into,” she continued, pausing to push a lock of jet black hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry to do this, but my Mom got me a test pilot billot,”

“On Earth,” He interrupted. Her childhood best friend, brother-in-arms, wingman, and more recently band-mate in the cover group they started with two other war-buddies when they mustered out at the end of the war, looked at her with equal parts disappointment and that ‘what the fuck do I do now’ stare.

“On Earth,” Jasmine said matter-of-factly. “That’s where the work is Marko.” She continued, leaning back in her mono-rail seat. Looking out the window, the plains of Isidis Planitia sped by as the sunset in a blue haze. “I don’t know if you’ve looked around here lately, but there’s not much work going around, and short of selling out to Earth for handouts, our gigs aren’t cutting it anymore.”

For the last four years after the war, they had started a cover-band and played small gigs in bars across Mars, they mostly played classic rock and metal songs from Earth’s late 20th and early 21st, but they had some original songs that were met with middling reception from crowds but saw little income from self-pub on the ‘net. The money wasn’t great, but it made ends meet, and it let Jasmine actually do something she loved.

“Where am I going to find a new drummer?”

“There’s Eris,” Jasmine responded, bringing up her old classmate and ‘rival’.

“Oh fuck no, one, she hates the classics, two, she still hates the fact you’re better than her,” He countered with a less than subtle eye roll. “You two are the only classically trained musicians I know,” He said, thinking out loud, referring to her time at Musica Universalis, Mars’ premiere music academy where she studied music theory and honed her skills as a percussionist. Not good enough to graduate or get on with a symphony, though, much to her mother’s disappointment.

“Have you asked her?”

“No,”

“I’m texting her right now,” Jasmine said, pulling up Eris’ contact and firing off a quick message.

“No, don’t!”

“Too late,”

“Great,”

“You might be surprised at her response,” She told him. “You know she’s been carrying a torch for you since grade school, right?”

“What?” He said, his expression going blank.

“You heard me,” Jasmine said with a laugh. “Why do you think she hates me?” She continued, remembering that night at college after a few too many when she spilled her guts. Sure Eris made a show of it that she hated her, but they had an understanding from then on.

There was an audible ding on Mark’s end that broke him out of his stupor.

“Oh,”

“Oh.”

“Now arriving at Daedalus Spaceport, please collect all belongings when you exit the car, as all misplaced baggage will be considered abandoned and subject to search and seizure. Mind the gap.”

“That’s my stop,” Jasmine said in response to the announcement. “I’ll send you a message once I’m back on the ‘net.”

“Safe journey, Jaz.”

Flicking her hand-terminal off, Jasmine stood up and grabbed her duffle bag from the overhead rack and waited her turn to get out of the car.

The crowded concourse that led out of mono-rail station was lined on either side by closed-down shops and going-out-of-business signs that were starting to become all too common on Mars the last few years.

Despite assurances from the Earth Parliament at the end of the war to devote resources to get Mars’ economy on its feet again, reality was much different. Instead, the whole planet was still under military occupation. Food and water were still under rationing, although water rationing is showing signs of easing as critical infrastructure is finally being replaced after it had been targeted as a ‘legitimate target of war’ at the beginning. Never mind the fact that water reclamation made up a third of the planet’s oxygen generation.

Footage of suffocated children in their beds had served as good motivation for the troops.

Earth wondered why it took the use of nuclear weapons to finally force capitulation.
The thought of it still angers her to this day, but she was quick to hide her expression as she passed by an EDF soldier who eyed her up and down.

“Fucking scar,” he muttered.

This garnered a few looks from those around Jasmine who now abandoned all pretenses of hiding her anger. If looks could kill, this man’s head would be on fire.

“Move along,” He said forcefully.

Looking up, she saw the signs she needed to follow to get to her gate, and then headed towards customs screening where she was greeted by an older apathetic Earth Navy non-com.

“Place your terminal here,” He instructed, and she did. “Full name?”

“Jasminder Mirai Bhatia,”

“Purpose for travel?”

“Work,”

“Ah, I see, here’s your work visa.” He said reading it, then paused and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Delta-Stellar Dynamics… You’re a pilot?”

“I know my passport has an MCN flag, so I know you know that already,” Jasmine said, starting to lose her patience. “I’ve been called scar once today, so if you’re going to dick me around, at least cut to the chase.” She told him, not breaking eye contact and when she was about to continue, she was halted when the older man held up the back of his hand, which had the same small scars that she had lining her hands and the rest of her body where they surgically grafted a carbon-nanofiber lattice to reenforce her skeleton that was weaker than that of an Earth-born human due to Mars’ lower gravity.

“Osteogenesis imperfecta. Parents couldn’t afford the in utero treatment and I was lucky enough to be spared skeletal defects. Got the implants when I was 19, right around the same time you Martians get theirs, no?” He said as he began typing into his terminal. “That particular epithet always rubbed me the wrong way, and I have a feeling I know who said it, I’ll see to it that he’s properly disciplined. You have my word.”

Jasmine was left speechless, standing there rubbing the back of her hands, which were now itching for no reason.

“Everything seems to be in order, have a good flight, Lieutenant Commander.” He said, handing her back her terminal with a nod.

Before she could respond, the din of the customs concourse fell silent, interrupted by the screaming of a young girl. Both Jasmine and the Sergeant who had just cleared her turned and ran towards the screams.

Quickly, they found a distraught mother kneeling next to her teenage daughter while the father was being restrained by spaceport security. In front of him was a young private on his ass, blood pouring from his nose. A small crowd had gathered, and the Martians among them were starting to call for his head.

Jasmine had seen this before, hell, she’d been through it herself. Not even bothering to reassure the mother, she dropped to her knees and gently grabbed the young woman by the jaw and felt for the small metal disks that were implanted in the mastoid behind the ear.

With a double-tap of her fingers and a long press, the screeching static that was causing the teen so much pain fell away to total silence.

I reset your implant, is that better? Jasmine signed with her hands, before looking up and waving off the medical team that was just now arriving. “Implant malfunction,” she told them, lifting the hair covering her own identical cochlear implants to show them. “I got this,”. They looked to the Sergeant, who nodded that it was ok then turned back to speak with the child’s father.

Yes, thank you.

Explosive decompression? I lost my hearing during a kindergarten field trip, airlock cycled the wrong way.

Bombing during the war.

I’m sorry about that, it was my job to stop that from happening. I failed.

It’s not your fault. The girl signed, then grabbed Jasmine’s hands and held them tight. She then tilted her head and stretched her jaw. “Oh, that’s better.”

“My name’s Jasmine, what’s yours?”

“Amanda,”

“It’s nice to meet you, Amanda. Give me one sec, I need to check something.”

With purpose, she stood up and walked over towards the security console attached to a checkpoint quick-scanner, pushing her way past a few of the spaceport security officers in her way. They attempted to stop her but were waved off by the Sergeant. With a few fast inputs, Jasmine pulled up Amanda’s passport, complete with a flashing red warning exempting her on medical grounds from the quick-scanner, which are known to crash several types of implants.

“You son of a bitch,” Jasmine raged. “What is it, you get kicks torturing kids?!”

“What is it?” The Sergeant asked, walking over to look at the screen, then scowled. “Private, you’re relieved. You, you,” He said, pointing to two guards. “Take him to the holding area and call the Lieutenant, I’ll be there shortly.”

Placing his hands on his hips and sighing, then he turned to the crowd watching. “Ok, everyone. This situation will be dealt with. Please return to your lines. Everyone else, back to work.”

“I never got your name,” Jasmine told him.

“Marcus,” The Sergeant replied.

“Well, Marcus, for an Earthling, you’re not that bad,” Jasmine said, offering her hand.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Martian.” He said, taking her hand and giving a good shake.