“We got less than thirty minutes to get this thing off the ground. I need you in the cockpit wearin’ your g-suit right now.”
“Right,” said Jessamyn.
“Suit’s hangin’ in your quarters,” said Crusty. “I’ll run and release the docking clamps and set the hangar doors to retract.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t you go takin’ off without me, kid,” he hollered over his shoulder.
And then Jessamyn was left alone with the enormity of her decision. She wouldn’t have the luxury of a full crew complement. She wouldn’t get a last goodbye with her parents. The planetary celebration … well, that was going to be something of a flop, now, wasn’t it? A bit less to celebrate when your planetary heroes off and steal the last space-worthy ship.
She slipped quickly into her partial-pressure breathing suit. It felt like it had been custom-made for her. Well, it had been. By people who trusted her. She shook the thought off and grabbed her helmet, securing it before she got her gloves on. Flicking the suit’s breathing apparatus to “on,” she strode down the hall to the helm.
“I’m ready when you are, Crusty,” she said on their private line.
“Just double-checking the fuel tanks are at capacity,” replied Crusty. “Everything looks real good.”
Jess ran through a series of checks at the helm. Holy Ares, but it felt good to be back in the pilot’s seat. She saw a tiny brush of something reflect upon her nav-panel and was about to turn when a hand landed on her shoulder.
“Going somewhere, Captain?” asked Ms. Smith.
Jess felt her heart leap into her throat. Quickly, she removed her helmet as if to make casual conversation easier. Images of her own death at Smith’s hands ran through her mind as she shoved Smith’s hand off her shoulder. She thought quickly.
“You know if Cavanaugh loaded fuel in the auxiliary tanks?” asked Jessamyn. “Things look bad on this sim.” She scowled as if she didn’t like what she saw.
“You’re running a simulation?” asked Smith.
“No,” said Jessamyn, voice dripping sarcasm. “I’m leaving right now. Just you and me.” She rolled her eyes at Smith. “Of course I’m running a sim. And I don’t like what the ship’s telling me about our fuel consumption. Do you know anything about the auxiliary tanks?”
Smith shrugged her ignorance.
“Is Cavanaugh here?” asked Jessamyn. “Hey Crusty, you getting all this? You seeing what I’m seeing on these sims?” Was Crusty aware of the sudden appearance of Smith?
“I’m seein’ everything, kid,” said Crusty.
Jess felt a flood of relief that Crusty understood her situation. But now she had to get Smith off the ship. She turned back to the woman. “Is there anyone here besides you who can answer my question about the auxiliary tanks?”
“No,” said Smith, her voice carrying an edge of caution. “Why does it look to me like you’re trying to leave without us?”
“I have no idea why it looks that way to you,” snapped Jessamyn. “Do I look insane to you? Have you read the studies on long-term effects of soloing in space?” Jess knew her excuse was anemic. She prayed Smith hadn’t read any of those studies.
“I’m calling Cavanaugh,” said Smith.
“Fine by me,” said Jess, feigning an indifference she did not feel. “Ask him about those spare tanks, too.” She lowered her voice as if muttering to herself. “And ask him how I’m supposed to fly this thing alone twenty-four point six hours a day. You civilians all think these ships fly themselves.”
She continued mumbling derogatory remarks for a few moments while Smith hesitated. Mercifully, it seemed Smith was concerned about the consequences of calling Cavanaugh this early.
Jess called out, “There! Look at that!”
Smith leaned in, clearly unable to interpret the screen Jess pointed to. “Something is wrong with the lateral stabilizer fin rotator.” She turned to Smith. “I want you to sit here while I go below decks and make an adjustment. I need you to tell me when it syncs back up.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” admitted Smith, her voice sulky.
“Well then we’d better find someone who can,” said Jess. “Crusty? You hear me?”
No response. Which was perfect for Jessamyn’s plan.
“Holy Ares,” muttered Jess, tapping her comm switch. Jess turned to Smith. “Make yourself useful, would you?” she demanded, hands on her hips in her most Kipper-like tone. “Go tell Crusty I need him on the bridge now.” She turned back to her panel. “Just look at these readings. We’re not going anywhere tomorrow if we don’t get that stabilizer fixed.”
She swore using phrases she’d heard Crusty utter.