chapter 21
AIN’T NO SKILLED POLITICIAN
Jessamyn arrived at the Galleon and passed through the airlocks into the ship’s habitable section just as Crusty was preparing to
leave. He wasn’t wearing his walk-out suit, which sent a shiver along Jessamyn’s spine. The ship was truly being prepared for
tomorrow’s launch. She unclasped her helmet, breathing the Galleon’s filtered air. Her nose wrinkled.
“Never smells too good when you start her back up after a rest,” Crusty remarked. “We’re still on the old air filter, too. Decided to just
replace the darned thing.”
He seemed undisturbed by Jessamyn’s appearance in the middle of the night.
“New filter’ll be here in a few hours,” he said. “Figured I’d try for some sleep ‘til then. ‘Less you want company?”
Jess shook her head. “I came here to sleep in my quarters. My house is … impossible.”
“Going to get noisy,” said Crusty. “I ain’t sleepin’ in here. Cavanaugh’s got some folks coming by to fuel the ship, switch out the
spacesuits in all the quarters for fresh ones, that sort of thing.”
Jess felt a flutter of alarm. “Won’t that be noticed?”
But Crusty shook his head. “Secretary gave everyone tomorrow off for the celebration, remember? Hangar’ll be empty ‘til it’s too
late to matter. And I might’ve done something to the vid monitors just to make sure.” He grinned as he said this. “But you’re likely to
get walked in on, if you try sleepin’ in your quarters.”
Jessamyn scowled, feeling very tired. She should have just stayed home.
“Hang on,” said Crusty. “You can bunk up in my tool locker.”
When Jess looked confused, Crusty added, “It’s cozy. Got a sleep mat, even. I slept in there plenty to give your brother a bit more
room. Cavanaugh’s bunch won’t have any cause to go in there. Plus it locks.”
“That sounds perfect,” Jessamyn said, a profound yawn distorting her voice.
Crusty led her to the tiny room which did, indeed, appear perfect at the moment. Shutting herself inside, she set the latch and turned
off the light. Within moments, she was fast asleep.
Only to be awakened again after two hours. This time, she knew exactly where she was, at least. What she didn’t know was why in
Hades Cavanaugh’s crew had to pick the hall beside her to have their very heated argument.
She pulled a palm over one ear, burying the other in the crook of her elbow. But it was no good. The two—or three—were shouting
at one another. Jess rose to give them a piece of her mind.
But then she stopped. Why were they discussing the Rations Storage fire?
She pressed an ear to the door and the conversation grew clearer.
“It opened the path for an unscheduled trip to Earth. Another fire could do the same,” said a woman’s voice.
Smith, thought Jess, shuddering at the thought of the woman she was supposed to share quarters with.
“No, you are not destroying the food supply again,” said a deep voice.
Cavanaugh, thought Jess.
“One fire looks like an accident. Two makes people start asking questions about arson. Questions that will lead straight to the Party’
s doors. Our cause doesn’t need that. We’ve already got what we want. Eyes on the prize, Smith,” concluded Kipper’s brother.
“She was only suggesting—”
Cavanaugh swore, cutting Jones off. “It will not be repeated. Especially not when we’re this close to achieving everything the Party is
working for.”
“Sir,” called a new voice. “That’s the last two loads. Will there be anything else?”
“No,” replied Cavanaugh.
“Did you bring the communications amplifier?” asked Jones.
“We didn’t know where to put it,” replied the voice Jess didn’t know.
“It needs to stay hidden,” said Smith. “I’m not keeping it in my quarters. The girl might ask questions.”
“Agreed,” said Cavanaugh.
“How about here?” asked Jones, slapping the door behind which Jess sheltered.
Jess clawed her way back from the door as someone rattled the handle.
“It’s locked,” said Jones.
“What do you think your thumb key is for?” said Smith, her voice exasperated. “Honestly.”
The door shook again and Jessamyn held her breath, praying the latch would hold.
“This room’s no good,” said Cavanaugh.
“It’s for equipment—” began Smith.
Cavanaugh interrupted. “It’s where that old fool mechanic stores things. I’ll lock it in my quarters.”
“I still say we arrange for a little accident to take the mechanic out of the picture,” said Smith. “He’ll side with the girl if it comes down
to a … conflict.”
“No,” Cavanaugh said sharply. “We’ve got a long and dangerous journey. Who’s going to fix things that break down? You?”
Smith didn’t make any sort of response that Jess could hear, but Cavanaugh seemed satisfied he’d made his point.
“We’ve got a full day ahead of us,” Cavanaugh said. “Let’s go.”
Jessamyn’s heart hammered in the dark room and she felt a rage such as had not filled her since she’d stabbed Lucca Brezhnaya.
Those … creatures set fire to Mars’s food supply, she raged silently. She could not fathom the depravity. Not to mention one of them
wanted to kill Crusty. The ungrateful wretches!
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice gritty with determination. All that mattered was that she report this to Mei Lo at once. She
crept from her hiding place. How did a person reach the Secretary General at this hour? Well, Jess knew where Mei Lo lived. She
was halfway into her walk-out suit when she heard someone thundering up from below decks.
“Hades and Aphrodite,” she swore. She had nowhere to hide. With her walk-out suit, she was too bulky to fit back into the tools
storage room. Then she sighed with relief—it was only Crusty.
“Mornin’ kid. You’re up ear—”
Jess cut him off. “We’ve got trouble. Big trouble.”
Hurriedly, she repeated the overheard conversation to her friend, who seemed remarkably unmoved by the threat against his life.
“Bells of Hades,” he whispered. “Didn’t see that comin’. Words fail me, Jess.”
“They’re ungrateful wretches,” Jess fumed, sealing the front of her suit.
“Guess we better get a move-on,” said Crusty, shaking his head.
“I’m taking a planet hopper straight to Mei Lo’s residence.”
“What?” asked Crusty.
“Immediately,” said Jessamyn. “Before the celebration.”
Crusty frowned. “Wait a minute. I’m talkin’ about launchin’ the ship. Are you sayin’ you want to go see the Secretary instead?”
Jess stared at her friend. “We can’t launch now. We’ve got information that Mei Lo needs in order to fight the pro-trade faction.”
Crusty stared at her like she was speaking Marsperanto.
“Cavanaugh and the others were going with the blessing of the pro-trade party,” said Jess. “Everyone will hate them once they hear
the truth about the party. This is just what Mei Lo needs!”
“Jess, you listen to me. You go blazin’ over to Mei Lo’s with this information and you’ll be in for all kinds of questions. People are
going to ask how it is you heard these conversations. How it is a group of arsonists planned to steal Mars’s only spaceship. And
who they found to pilot. Don’t think for a minute Cavanaugh won’t rat you out.”
Something in the pit of Jess’s stomach rolled over uncomfortably.
“Oh,” said Jess. It was awful. Crusty was right. “What are we going to do?” she murmured, half to herself, half to Crusty.
“Kid, the way I see it, we got two options. We can launch this morning, before the rest of the crew shows up, or we can give up ‘til
next annum and head over to Mei Lo’s and tell her everything.”
Jess felt like she was going to be sick.
“But you better decide quick,” said Crusty. “’Cause Cavanaugh and his buddies were planning to load a few more things on the ship
during the celebration this morning. The ship’s packed full up on fuel, but you need a morning launch from this position. Ship can’t
carry enough fuel for launchin’ at the wrong time of day.”
Jessamyn nodded. Morning was their launch window. If they took off any other time, it would send the ship in the wrong direction.
They couldn’t afford the fuel for large course corrections from space, and besides, they’d never get up to speed without slinging off
using the planet’s spin—not when Earth and Mars were separating by nearly four million kilometers a day.
“I don’t like to say it, but it’s either go now or wait another annum,” said Crusty.
“If I stay,” said Jessamyn, “I won’t get a second chance. Not once Cavanaugh opens his mouth.”
She would never leave Mars if she chose to stay right now. Who would trust a spacecraft thief? She’d be stuck. She would never
see Pavel again. A weight like a hundred kilos of Mars rock seemed to crush the air from her lungs. She shook the feeling away and
took a deep breath.
“If we stay, we could use what we know to sway public opinion,” she said. “We reveal what they did and what else they were willing
to do, and Mars Colonial will turn on them. The pro-trade party goes down in flames of infamy. A skilled politician could use
something like this to sway an entire population.”
“That’s just it, kid, I ain’t no skilled politician. And with all due respect, Jess, you’re not going to be doin’ a whole lot of persuading
from inside a jail cell.”
Jessamyn’s heart sank as she felt the truth of his words.
“True enough,” said Jess. “But the Secretary still needs to know.”
“That’s a call you can place once we’re airborne,” replied Crusty.
Crusty was right again. They couldn’t stay. She felt her resolve forming, originating in the cool space she accessed when she flew.
To hand Mei Lo this information while stealing away with Mars’s last ship was crazy. Crazy like taking a planet-hopper into the heart
of a storm. But it would accomplish every one of her goals. Mei Lo. Terran-fever. Terran aggression. Satellites. Ethan. Pavel.
Solutions came when your back was up against a wall, thought Jess. When your secondary port thruster had blown and your primary
was about to follow suit and you refused to eject.
Her answer was right in front of her: sometimes steering into a dust storm was the right thing to do.
“We launch this morning, Crusty,” she said, her voice as cool as that space in her mind.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Crusty. “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. Then she turned back to Smith. “What are you waiting for? Crusty and I have to
take off for the celebration in half an hour. I want this stabilizer fixed now!” She brought her palm down on the nav-panel and Smith
turned, scrambling down the hall.
Jessamyn waited until she heard the airlock door shut behind the unwelcome guest. Switching to their private channel, she spoke to
Crusty. “Please tell me you heard all that?”
“I’m here kid. Listen close. I put out a delayed message straight to Mei Lo’s office about Cavanaugh and his gang. I’m going to have
to, er, detain Ms. Smith. I don’t know as I can do that, open the hangar, and get myself up on the ship. So if you see that hangar door
open up and the clock zeroes out, you take the ship outta here whether I’m aboard or no.”
“I can’t,” said Jessamyn. “Not by myself!”
“You listen to me, Captain Jaarda,” said Crusty. “You are perfectly capable of making this trip solo. If you still think this mission’s
worthwhile, then you go. You fly with me or without me, by Hermes.”
Jessamyn placed her helmet back onto her suit, latching it securely, and something inside her clicked into place. “This mission is a
go,” she said.
Over her comm, Jess heard Smith’s voice as she approached Crusty through the airlock that separated him from the hangar’s
exposed interior. Then she heard Smith relaying the fake message about stabilizers to the mechanic. So far, so good, she thought.
“You’re launching early,” said Smith’s voice in her helmet. There was certainty in her accusation. Jessamyn’s heart pounded.
“I’m runnin’ a sim with the captain,” replied Crusty. “Put that gun down. You trying to get New Houston’s emergency services over
here? ‘Cause they ain’t gonna like what they find.”
“Stop what you’re doing,” said Smith. “Step away from that wafer right now!”
“Keep doin’ what you do best, kid,” said Crusty, apparently ignoring the woman with the gun.
A message flashed upon Jessamyn’s screen.
Hangar doors retracting.
In her helmet she could hear Crusty arguing with Smith. And then she heard a shot and the sound of something large and metal
toppling to the ground.
“Crusty?” she called out, unable to stop herself. There was no response. The chronometer ticked down to one minute, thirty seconds
until launch. She heard a low groan—a woman’s groan, she thought. It faded and did not resume.
“Crusty?” she screamed. Her stomach seized with cold fear. She opened her public channel.
“Smith? What’s going on down there?” she cried.
No response. One minute to go. She stood and then sat again, mad with not knowing what was happening. Was Crusty racing on
foot to the ship? Was he dead? Forty-five seconds to go.
“Crusty?” she called again. “Crusty!”
She heard nothing.
What should she do?
What is it that makes you a good pilot, Jess?
Harpreet’s question echoed in her memory. As did her answer.
I fly with my gut.
What was her gut telling her now?
Crusty!
It was time to listen to her reason. The answer was there, like she’d known it would be.
You are a pilot. Fly.
This was no time for regrets or fears or thoughts of anything beyond this bridge. Jess approved the Galleon’s final launch sequence.
From inside her helmet-insulated world, Jess couldn’t hear the scream of the hover-boosters as the ship flared from the hangar. She
approved rocket launch and—not a moment too soon—remembered to harness in for the blast. How many other important details
would she forget without a ground crew to assist her?
She pushed the thought aside. She was a pilot. If there was one place in the universe where she belonged, one place where she
knew what to do, and how and when to do it, that place was right here—in the cockpit of a space-faring vessel. The Galleon gave a
shuddering jolt and Jessamyn was slammed into her seat as the ship lifted through Mars’s shallow atmosphere. In the violence of
the launch, she found a moment to wonder if her brother had truly disabled the lasers.