Mark Anson - Below Mercury

Matt Crawford and Clare Foster met for the first time the following morning, in a nondescript lecture room in the training centre at Andersen Base. Matt had arrived early, and he was sitting at one of the desks, sipping coffee and reading some of the posters on the wall.

Events had moved at a whirlwind pace for Matt since the investigation board’s decision last December; it had felt like an endless round of travel, work and meetings, but he had relished the work and the sense of purpose. There had been lengthy discussions to decide detailed priorities for the mission, as well as sombre meetings with the various relatives’ groups and their legal representatives. A good deal of impassioned argument had taken place over the composition of the rest of the team, and the SAIB had had to step in twice to resolve disputes. While all this was going on, detailed technical decisions had to be taken on suitable launch dates and equipment manifests for the mission.

The launch date decision had been taken only two days ago, and Matt barely had enough time to pack before yesterday’s flight out from Los Angeles, ready to start the intensive training programme for the mission. Just twelve weeks away, the launch date left the bare minimum time for preparation, so the pressure was on. Matt hoped he was up to the training – there were plenty of people who would like to see him fail. At that thought, Matt’s resolve hardened. They weren’t going to get rid of him that easily.

The door opened and a slim, blonde woman in her thirties walked in, wearing the dark blue service dress uniform of the Astronautics Corps. The severe, masculine cut of the uniform suited her figure well. Her eyes assessed Matt as she closed the door behind her and came over. She walked with the easy confidence of an experienced pilot, but Matt sensed a faint hesitation beneath the surface, as if she was less sure of herself than she appeared.

‘I guess you’re Captain Foster,’ Matt began, standing up and holding out his hand. ‘I’m Matt Crawford, the representative for the relatives.’

They shook hands briefly. Her hand was cool and slender, and she was tall; her dark blue eyes were on a level with his. She had no makeup on, and there were lines round her eyes, suggesting a broken night’s sleep.

‘Hi. Welcome to Andersen.’ She didn’t smile. ‘You’re early. Didn’t you want to come with the others?’

‘Uh, I was travelling yesterday, and I woke early. I guess they’ll be here in the next few minutes. Do you want some coffee? They’ve just brought some in.’ Matt indicated a table at the back of the room.

Clare shook her head, and glanced round the room, before perching on the edge of one of the tables, facing Matt. The table leg scraped against the floor as she sat down.

Matt wondered what to say. He had read her profile on the long flight here, and he was sure that she would have read his as well. He was realistic enough to know that she was pretty much washed-up after her suspension, and that this mission had been tossed to her to see if she was still up to command. She looked a little older than the picture of her in her profile, but prettier; she had high cheekbones and neat features that complemented her narrow jaw line.

‘What have they told you about the mission?’ Matt asked.

‘Just what’s in the briefing pack – it’s a mission to investigate that big mining accident that happened in forty-two, and you need a flight crew to get you there and back.’

Matt nodded. ‘Yeah. That’s about it.’

‘How far are you on with the planning?’

‘Well, I’m hoping we get to see the latest mission plan today. The plans for when we’re on the surface – we’ve managed to agree the main priorities, but most of the detail still needs to be done. It’s tricky when we’re not sure exactly what we’ll find.’

‘Sure.’ She didn’t look convinced.

‘This is the first time the whole team’s met up together.’

Clare nodded, and glanced round the room. Matt was saved from finding something else to say, when the door opened again and three men came in. The first, a young man, was dressed in the blue flight duty overalls of the Corps, and the other two were older, in civilian clothes.

The man in flight overalls stood to attention in front of Clare, and after a few brief words with her, introduced himself to Matt.

‘First Lieutenant Steve Wilson. I’m the copilot for the mission.’

They shook hands. Wilson was 27, fresh-faced with short black parted hair, and seemed to be keen to make a good impression. There had been several alternative copilots in the briefing file; Wilson had obviously won the selection process.

The two other newcomers introduced themselves as Dr Martin Elliott, the representative from PMI, and Peter Abrams, from the Space Accident Investigation Board.

Abrams was a 52-year-old veteran of many accident investigations, and had worked for the FSAA’s own accident investigation branch for many years before it became part of the SAIB. His hair was grey and he had crinkles round his eyes, an easy and relaxed manner and a warm, dry handshake that instilled confidence. Matt liked him at once.

Elliott was slightly built and shorter than Matt; he seemed stiff and reserved as they shook hands. Matt had a vague sense of trouble ahead, but he put it down to the inevitable prejudice that the other man would have from PMI’s briefing. Elliott was a specialist in control systems, which pretty much told Matt where PMI would be looking to prove their case.

Abrams returned from the coffee pots at the back of the room, and handed a full cup to Elliott.

‘Did you want milk or sugar? I don’t know how you take it,’ Abrams said apologetically. Elliott muttered something about sugar and took the opportunity to move away.

Abrams raised his cup to Matt.

‘Congratulations. I know how long your side has been fighting to get this mission. It’s quite an achievement, getting this reopened.’

‘Yeah. It’s not been an easy ride.’ Matt smiled at his own understatement. ‘Were you on the original investigation?’

‘Me? No.’ He drawled the ‘o’. ‘I read the report when it came out, though. Seemed to me the team did a good job, given what they had to work on.’

‘Yeah, well that’s where we have the advantage, being able to – oh, hold on, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’ Matt raised his hand to another man who had just come in, and beckoned him to come over. Rick Bergman threaded his way through the tables towards Matt, smiling broadly.

‘Matt. It’s been too long.’

‘It certainly has.’ Matt shook his old friend’s hand warmly, and cast an appraising eye over the changes that the years had brought. Bergman was about Matt’s age, and a little taller – almost too tall to fit into a spaceplane ejection seat. His jet black hair was shot through now with the occasional strand of white, and his aquiline features and large nose gave him a faintly Roman look.

He looks older, but then we all do, Matt thought. ‘I’m really glad you could join the mission – even though you did your best to get out of it!’

‘Yes, well, I wasn’t too keen, with my son so young and everything, but with a bit of luck I’ll be back by Christmas. They said I wouldn’t have to go away for at least another year if I took this mission, and that swung it in the end.’

Matt nodded. One of the problems of space travel for people with families was the length of time spent away from home. There was always a shortage of older, more experienced people willing to take postings, particularly to those in the Outer Solar System, where journey times could be a year or more. Going to Mercury was different, however; it had the shortest journey time of any planet, and Matt reckoned on being home for Christmas himself.