Episode Four: A Change in Plans
While the crews scramble, working round the clock to finish the ship, the situation with the mystery ship in the asteroid belt changes, and the Marius must depart for Jupiter immediately.
Space Cruiser USS Marius, CS-1
In orbit around Mars
November 2055
This was happening too slowly. As I watched the monitor, the fuel tank continued rotating, tightening the opening, crushing Celeste’s hand, and puncturing her glove.
Celeste’s partner reached her. He pulled to extract her hand, and the leak worsened. The panel showed five minutes of oxygen remaining, but the suit temperature had dropped near zero. She was close to decompressing, and I was helpless to stop it.
“You’re tearing her glove. Just please stop, for God’s sake, stop.” Frantic, tears welling up, I pounded on the console. Come on. Come on. Panicky, I was ready to leave my post and run to the airlock.
After excruciating minutes, the rescue crew exited the airlock and jetted to Celeste’s location. To my right, through the observation dome, I watched a construction tug speed to the fuel tank. The tug arrived first and latched onto a mounting bracket. Slowly, gently, the tug pushed and moved the tank off the mounting ring and away from Celeste and her partner.
The rescue crew grabbed Celeste. The safety cable drew taut, and the winch reeled the rescue team in with Celeste in tow. Celeste’s partner jetted to the construction tug and entered the airlock.
Thank God. Finally, everyone was safe—I had to get to Celeste. I shut down the console and rushed to the gravity ring, reaching the infirmary just as the rescue team arrived.
The med techs sliced through Celeste’s suit and tore it off. She was barely conscious, clearly in pain, shivering uncontrollably. The team wrapped her in a warming blanket, started an IV, and began working on her injured hand.
Fortunately, the rigid, titanium latching ring where her glove attached to her sleeve had borne the force of the moving tank. But the tear in her glove had exposed her hand to a near-vacuum. Her hand was reddish, her fingers waxy looking, a purple, ashen color towards the ends. The tips of two fingers had turned black.
The med team kicked me out. They would do whatever was possible to save her fingers, but I had to leave.
So, I did and headed straight to Colonel Bullard on the bridge. Somebody on thruster control screwed up, and I wanted to find out who and why.
I flew down the central tunnel that ran the ship’s length, propelling myself with the handholds evenly spaced along the padded tunnel wall, and came to a sharp stop at the airlock hatch separating the bridge from the tunnel. I seethed as the outer door cycled open, clenching and unclenching my fists as I pushed into the airlock proper and waited for the inner hatch to open.
In the zero-G of the bridge module, Colonel Bullard, strapped into the central command chair, faced forward, directing operations. I raised my voice over the mild din of the bridge conversations: “Colonel Bullard, we need to talk—now.” The bridge went silent. All eyes turned to me, tempering my anger with embarrassment.
The Colonel swiveled in his chair and stared, eyes narrowed, lips pursed, a look of disapproval.
“First, Ms. Chandler, on board the ship, it’s Captain Bullard. And second, what the hell do you think you’re doing, barging in here and shouting? You may not be Space Force, but I’ll not tolerate disrespectful behavior. Would you like to try again?”
I bit back a smart-ass remark. To keep from drifting, I hooked my feet into deck restraints, took a deep breath to calm myself, and unclenched my fists.
“Yes, sir. Captain, somebody screwed up on thruster control and almost killed my sister. She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t lose some fingers. I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”
“I’m not going to do anything about it other than repeat my demands that everybody follow the rules and stick to protocol. We don’t have time for mistakes. I’ve already spoken to Mr. Reynolds that he should have checked before starting the test. The thruster test was on the schedule for fourteen-thirty hours. That same schedule had your team slated to finish the fuel tank installation by thirteen-hundred.”
“I know, sir. But they ran into some issues and needed an extra hour and a half to complete the work. Their EV time was well within guidelines.”
“But you didn’t update the schedule with the new completion time, did you? As the EVA spotter, it was your job to log the change. You’re just lucky no one was killed.”
Oh, my God. I didn’t. I completely forgot. Oh my god, oh no. My heart started beating too fast. A sheen of sweat broke out all over my body, and I could feel my tears spilling out. I was distracted, and I almost killed my sister. I shouldn’t be here. How will I make this up to Celeste?
“I am so sorry, Captain. I can’t do this. You need to send me away.” I did my best not to cry.
Captain Bullard sat for a moment and let me stew, although the sternness had left his expression.
“Ms. Chandler, none of us are cut out for this. Nobody’s ever done this before: build a ship at Mars with an untested design and a green crew. But we will learn. I can’t afford to lose even one member of the crew. So, no. You’re not going anywhere, and you will learn to do your job now that you know the consequences of not giving it one hundred percent.”
I thought about objecting. But I had nowhere to go and couldn’t leave my moms and Celeste.
“Yes, sir.”
At a soft chime, he checked his command panel. “Thankfully, the update from medical says Celeste will be OK. Some rehab time, but she’s expected to recover fully.” He returned his gaze to me. “So, go square this with your sister and then get back to work. Dismissed.”
He swiveled to face the front again. The bridge crew, who had been surreptitiously listening, returned to their consoles, and I slunk from the bridge as much as you can slink in zero-g.
###
Later in the day, the order came from Captain Bullard to assemble in the gravity ring lounge. We were a small crew, but the lounge was spacious, at least compared to the one on the Schiaparelli. I found a seat in a back corner, away from everyone. My mothers had tried to console me, but I’d not had the courage to speak to Celeste. I was not in any mood to talk to anyone.
The med teams had done their best, but they had to amputate the ends of the ring finger and pinkie on her right hand. They thought they could restore them with some stem cell treatment, but only time would tell. She could have lost all her fingers. It was small comfort Celeste was left-handed and could stay on board and continue her work after her fingers healed.
Celeste was still in the sick bay, under mild sedation—I could delay my apology a little longer. Truthfully, though, I didn’t know what to say. No matter what I said, there was no way I could make up for my mistake. I had almost killed my sister because I was too childish and pissy about having to come on the mission to do my job. How would she ever trust me?
As I wallowed in the muck that was my guilt, the room quieted. Captain Bullard took up a position at the front of the room and activated the view screen. In full dress uniform, Aunt Mavis stood in her office on the planet, a navigation map of the asteroid belt on the screen behind her.
“Greetings. I know you expected three more weeks on the schedule, but we are out of time.” She stepped to the side and pointed to the course projection graphic on the screen. “It seems the Space Systems & Technology ship did what we ended up doing. They cannibalized one of the ore miners and installed continuous thrust ion engines on the tanker. They are now on a faster course to Europa, and if we don’t launch now, they’ll get there first.”
A din rose in the lounge. Questions were shouted, objections were shouted even louder. Captain Bullard waited patiently until the noise subsided. He waved those standing at the back to their seats and gestured to the general to resume.
“I understand your objections. But the engines are tested and online. Fueling will be complete today. And we’ve scrambled every available shuttle to deliver the last of the supplies. You’ll be fully operational in two days—and that’s when you leave.”
An engineer near the front raised his hand. Captain Bullard acknowledged him.
“Captain, we’ve not completed some non-engineering spaces and haven’t finished installing and testing the weapons. We’re not ready.”
Aunt Mavis signaled Captain Bullard to respond. “If we don’t beat SS&T to Europa, the weapons won’t matter. We’d be too late to stop them, the damage would be done to Europa, and the alien invaders would have an ally in orbit around Jupiter.” The captain paused, but no one else raised an objection. “Very well then. The teams will complete the remaining build-outs in transit, including installing and testing the weapons. We’re taking two extra construction tugs to help get that done. It’s risky, but this crew has worked miracles to get us this far.”
The ensuing question and answer changed nothing. It was a relief that Aunt Mavis and Captain Bullard didn’t insult our intelligence with a pep talk. They just stated the facts.
We leave for Jupiter in two days—ready or not.