to remain behind if necessary. To face the wrath of MCC alone.
In fact, seeing as he had placed his orchid aboard early, it would seem he’d expected to be stuck behind on Mars, bearing the brunt of punishment as an aider and abettor of criminals.
“Hades, Crusty!” she swore. “Why didn’t you discuss this with me?”
Rolling her eyes, she snatched up the orchid and marched to the bridge. She looked around for a few seconds before deciding the orchid belonged at Crusty’s station, where it could stand as a reminder to Jessamyn of his sacrifice. The thought melted her and she sank into her seat at the helm, looking at the fragile flower.
“What’ve I done?”
The helm was eerily quiet. MCC must have decided they were wasting their breath. Perhaps they’d moved on to discussing her fate privately now. Obviously she’d be expelled from the Academy, her pilot’s license revoked. Most likely, she’d be placed under arrest in absentia. She’d stolen her planet’s last remaining interplanetary vehicle, effectively committing the largest theft in the history of Mars Colonial.
All of which would be for nothing if she didn’t get herself to Earth. Settling into the pilot’s hot seat, she checked her heading once again. It was off a handful of degrees, due to the ill-advised fuel burns when she’d thought herself under laser attack. She made a series of small burns to return the Galleon to the correct trajectory. As she terminated the burns, she noticed something odd on her fuel consumption report.
Frowning, she brought up a more complete chart of her fuel use in the forty-nine minutes since she’d left Mars. Then she asked the ship’s computer to recalculate. The numbers made no sense. How could she have burned through so much fuel leaving Mars? Hadn’t Crusty said the ship was fully fueled? Yes, she was certain he’d said that. And she was even more certain he wouldn’t have allowed her to launch with inadequate fuel. It wasn’t the sort of mistake Crusty would make, no matter what the circumstances.
Painstakingly, she reexamined the quantity of fuel the ship had held prior to launch. She double-checked this amount with the quantity the Galleon would need to launch at correct velocity to catch up to Earth. Her requirements while on her journey would be minimal thanks to inertia—her ship would sail at a steady rate with no resistance. She might make a handful of course corrections with small burns, but she wouldn’t really need fuel again until it was time to enter Earth’s atmosphere. Large burns would be critical to slow her speed then.
The calculations came back exactly as expected. Crusty (or, technically, Cavanaugh) had loaded the ship with the correct amount the journey called for plus the just-in-case buffer for unforeseen eventualities. Like a pilot misinterpreting danger from defunct lasers. Jess shook her head at her stupidity and then focused once more upon the ship’s readings.
There were only two possibilities. Either Crusty hadn’t checked the fuel or the current readings were inaccurate. The first was impossible and the second was troubling. She counted on her ship to provide her with complete and accurate data. But apparently, some part of the ship’s ability to read fuel consumption was busted. It must have been something Crusty ran out of time to fix—there was no other logical explanation.
Sighing, she turned from the readings. They were flawed, but ultimately the bad readings wouldn’t affect her ability to pilot the ship. She trusted Crusty. The fuel was there; she just couldn’t see it.
It occurred to Jess that she might be able to pick up news about Crusty’s state of health or … otherwise. Her stomach knotting uncomfortably, she shifted over to her brother’s old station. There, she fussed with the communications array until she picked up a broadcast from New Houston.
She and Crusty had made the news, alright.
“Could it be for the purpose of demonstrating the laser satellites are truly non-functional?” asked a male voice.
A female replied. “No, Dan, I don’t think that’s what we’re looking at. Hang on—we’re just receiving a report that Payload Specialist Daschle Crustegard was present at the launch site.”
“Perhaps he can shed some light on this puzzling situation?” asked the male voice.
“Unlikely,” replied the woman. “He is listed in critical condition at New Houston Memorial Hospital.”
“I see. So, back to the other raider—”
Blanching, Jess located a different broadcast.
“And now we hear that Daschle Crustegard has been removed to what appears to be a kind of protective custody within the Intensive Care unit.”
“You know,