John Karr - Detonation Event

Bay control came through the speakers. “Exit confirmed. Good luck, Nine. Give the firecrackers our regards.”

“Knew you could lighten up, Helena. See you in a few hours. Mr. Nuro, if you would elevate us on par to the observation panes of Bay Control.”

“Aye, Captain.” Nuro muted the transmission. “Requesting you remain fully clothed.”

“What’s one more moon around Mars?”

“Nobody wants to see your craters and scars.”

“Hmmm,” from the navigator.

“Nobody with any sense,” Nuro added.

Devans reactivated the comm link and stood in the shaft of one of the recessed lights. He raised his right arm and touched his left shoulder. Through the transparent nose of the spacecraft, the blinking lights and operations room of the Columbus Bay tower control were easily discerned. There, the protective shields had also been withdrawn, revealing the standing figures in the tower who returned the salute.

Devans grinned at Helena, Fres, and the other members of her group. “Fourth rock from the sun, people. Initiate departure, Mr. Nuro.”

“Initiating.”

“Link request coming through,” Shannon Burroughs said, from behind Devans.

“Link away, Shannon.”

A pause, then the voice of Bradley Fresnopolis. “Devans, Devans, where can ye be?”

“Lost on the ocean, without a place to pee,” the captain of PS-9 said, with a small laugh.

“It never made much sense, but so what?” Fres said. “I’ve got a bulletin for you, old man.”

“Yeah, old man?”

“We’re a hair from DE. Keep it reasonable down there.”

Devans was mildly surprised. “Did you just go full grandma on me, Fres?”

“Bah. Don’t get lazy, old man.”

“The crew’ll keep me straight, old man. Are we gonna gum kiss now?”

“However it goes…” Fres said.

Devans’ grin slowly vanished. He finished the old line the friends had shared for a couple decades now. “Always there.”

“You buy the beer when we return, Granny Fres,” Devans said.

“You got it.”

PS-9 exited the bay and fell in a slow graceful arc away from MOS-1. The orbiter was so large it eclipsed the sun and cast a wide shaft of darkness. Thirty seconds more and a five-mile gap of space grew between it and the man-made moon. Devans scrutinized his readings.

“Build status?”

The copilot pressed a button and focused on the engine’s readout, watching as the power surged from the nuclear drive. The shuttle trembled slightly. “Within limits. Venting heat and light, Cap.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nuro. Stand by.”

The monitors showed the yellow-white glow of the fusion drive overwhelm the blue of the ion drive and begin to reach into space. It illuminated the sides of the shuttle around the side vents. Sensors registered the heat increase.

“Navigator Burroughs?”

“Suggested course marked and uploaded. It is now discernible on your holos of the region.”

Devans raised a brow at her projected path, shown in green. “Rocks?”

“Scanners indicate zero asteroids and minimal fragments between us and the planet.”

“Official shield recommendation?”

Devans, still standing, glanced over his shoulder to find Burroughs smiling at Trent Wagner. “Could I trouble you for the official recommendation on shuttle protection, Navigator?”

Burroughs blinked. “Uh, radar indicates zero asteroids and minimal fragments between us and the planet.”

“Said that already,” Devans returned, as dryly as he could muster.

“Oh, I did, didn’t I? Shields can be recessed until we enter Martian atmosphere, then closed.”

“Yes!” Wagner leaped up onto the center oblong table.

“We’d get a little toasty without shields for entry, so thank you for that recommendation,” Devans said.

“You’re welcome, CapD!” Burroughs winked at him.

“Uh-huh. See those boot heel marks on our wall at about seventy degrees?” Devans pointed them out to Burroughs. “That was from the last time we cut the kid a break.”

“Those doglegs you performed last time weren’t on the projected course, Captain .”

“Evasive maneuvers.”

“Strange no spatial matter appeared on my monitors. Not even the video recordings.”

“Captain’s intuition, or it was a test. You choose.”

“Hmm. That coffee stain on the arm of your chair still hasn’t come out.”

“Yeah, gotta get something on that.” Devans sat and checked his readouts. He pressed the intra-ship communications button on the holo screen. “Thirty seconds, everyone. Strap in.”

Devans tossed a Ping-Pong ball at the young man in the jumpsuit down on the meeting table. It bounced off his rear shoulder, struck the table, and was about to fall toward the floor when a sudden bend and swipe claimed it. Kid had agility.

“Wagner, find a chair and strap in.”

“Why not skip the ion engine altogether and just ease out under nuclear drive?” Trent Wagner said, staring at the stars and then Mars before them. “We have enough engine control to crawl inch by inch if we wanted to. Not like the engine is asleep back there. It’s got the power, just not always fusing, right?”

“You’re just buyin’ face time, kid, but I’ll explain again in a second just to drill it into your head. Who knows, you might need to fly a shuttle someday.”

The transparent bridge panes and monitors revealed Mars before them, red and amber, against a backdrop of black space and bright stars.

“Fly a shuttle someday,” Lassiter Nuro repeated, studying his instrument panels.

The men froze as if hearing a strange sound, then swiveled their chairs. They faced each other, portraits of serious space aviators. After three seconds facial muscles twitched, then they threw their heads back and bawled with laughter. Devans rocked in his chair with his head bobbing back and forth. Nuro pretended to dab at a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye, which made Ry Devans laugh in earnest, and harder still when Nuro fanned himself with an open hand.

Wagner observed them sourly. “Friggin’ pilots.”

“Ignore them, Trent. You can be whatever you want to be,” Burroughs said.

“At least there’s one cool person in here. But, hey, I thought I was something already.” He smiled at her and turned back to the red planet, reflected now in his eyes.

“An astro physicist ,” Burroughs said, with proper emphasis directed toward the chiding officers.

Trent’s finger snapped and he pointed without taking his eyes off the red planet before them. “Right! Thank you, Shannon Burroughs!”

“Oh, absolutely,” she cooed.

The pilots rolled their eyes and returned to their checks. Ry Devans glanced at the young man now shifting his weight from side to side.

“You saw those burn scars on the bay wall, kid.”

“Yeah, happened before I reached MOS-1. Bad fusion build led to overload.”

“Right after the ion drive exploded. Sound a little coincidental?” Devans touched the scar on his brow.

“But the official report—” Wagner said.

“—Is a joke,” Devans finished. “Mechanics fail sometimes, but it still doesn’t seem right for a healthy furnace to pass inspections and run without a glitch and then explode.”

Nuro half whispered, “The captain sees a conspiracy under every asteroid, kid.”

“A year later and it’s still not right,” Devans continued, unfazed. “Anyway, why not use the nuke drive, you asked, kid? The ion drive is supposed to be precautionary. The nuke bowl won’t fuse to sufficient power without a fuel build, so we do it away from the MOS. No need to put ten thousand-plus lives and beaucoup money and effort at risk, all because some astrophysicist wants to go fast out the chute of the mother ship.”