anything.” She left the bridge vowing to move at a more sedate pace and to stay below-decks until all the transfers were complete.
When she came to empty the fifth pod, she paused. If she had to actually use the pod in an emergency, it would be easier to maneuver with working thrust rockets. Cursing Cavanaugh and his fuel-wasting tellurium, she scowled at the final pod, hands on her hips.
And then she shook her head and addressed the Red Galleon. “If I can’t land you safely, my beauty, what’s the point?” She gave the orders to evacuate fuel from the final pod.
Making her way back to the bridge, Jess was frustrated to see no change to the “insufficient fuel” message. A chill ran along her spine. Perhaps she shouldn’t have pulled fuel from the final pod. She thought about it for a long hard minute but decided in the end that she’d made a choice she could live with. Not giving the Galleon every possible chance? That was something she couldn’t live with.
She searched the ship’s database for the entry, descent, and landing plan she’d used on her first trip to Earth. She had nowhere near enough fuel to follow those protocols, but she planned out a few variations to a conventional landing that might just get her and her ship down safely.
She’d just completed her EDL list when the Galleon’s “low oxygen” warnings began to blare once more. This time hacking in as the ship’s commander didn’t seem to help. Frustrated and tired, Jessamyn tried the dubious course of reasoning aloud with her ship.
“Yes, my beauty, I understand that you are worried about the air quality right now,” she said. “But see? I’m wearing a suit. I’m good. Really.”
In what struck Jessamyn as either remarkably friendly on the Galleon’s part or else very eerie indeed, the alarm abruptly ceased. She waited for several minutes to see if it was really done, and decided, eyes drooping, that she could risk going to bed.
The next morning, Jessamyn woke early and simply lay curled in her sleep nest in Ethan’s room. Breathing in the oxygen-rich air of the suit, she realized she ought to make provision for making certain she would always awaken before and not after each suit’s oxygen supply ran out. A few scheduled alarms later, she made her first transfer suit-to-suit. She could use her old suit’s emergency share-mask to maintain a steady flow of clean oxygen. However, the procedure seemed clumsy and she decided to simply take off her helmet and suit, risking a minute without oxygen.
The stench of putrefying organisms was overpowering.
Next time she’d use the share mask.
Three more days passed with three more suit transfers. Smith turned out to have narrower shoulders than Jessamyn and wearing her suit made Jess feel as if someone were squeezing her shoulders all day.
Another day and another suit and at last it was day sixty-five—her touchdown day. Her EDL was ready. The blue planet hurtled toward her at a terrifying speed. Would the Galleon deliver her safely or become her coffin? A shiver ran through her. Then she threw her shoulders back and made her way to the ship’s helm.
Somewhere upon that planet traced with green and gold, blue and white, her brother sheltered with Pavel.
“Come on, then,” she shouted. “I’m here and I’m coming in fast!”
34
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE
Lucca Brezhnaya did not appreciate interruptions. Or being awoken in the middle of the night. Or unwelcome news.
As Vladim, the bearer of an urgent piece of intelligence, was all too aware.
Fortunately, the Chancellor was in Mexico City at present and could not assault him over a vid-channel. At least, he’d never heard of such an assault having occurred. Also, he knew that to withhold this information would result in something much worse than whatever would result from delivering it.
“Madam Chancellor,” he said in greeting. He kept his voice soft in a way he imagined might be less offensive to one shaken from slumber by her butler. That had been fun, convincing the butler to wake the Chancellor.
“Speak up,” said Lucca. “If it’s important enough to justify waking me, I’d better be able to hear it!”
“It would appear your orders to monitor the skies for illegal traffic were well-advised,” replied Vladim.
Lucca scowled. Of course her orders were well-advised. What sort of dolt was she speaking with? “What are you telling me? Has there been a breach of the three hundred kilometer ban? Is there a ship on its way to Mars?”
“No, Madam Chancellor. It