by Gary Weston
Last Flight For Craggy
Gary Weston
Last Flight For Craggy © 2013 Gary Weston
All rights reserved
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
The year was 2095 and the old freighter was on its last Moon Mars run. The umbrella shaped heat shield took the brunt of the landing, protecting the freighter and attached cargo pod train from damage as it entered the Martian atmosphere. In order to slow the ship down, Freighter Captain Dixon Cragg deliberately angled the ship at forty degrees so that it was plunging belly first, creating the drag which also created the friction that generated heat to cause the outside temperature to rise to 1650 degrees Celsius.
The forty degree angle, blunt end entry produced a shock-wave that held the heat away from the body of the ship. A single orbit would have the ship low enough to glide on low power, using only the thrusters to manoeuvre and change direction to finally land.
The heat shield folded down to cover the nose of the freighter, and the ship could orbit the Red Planet safely. Fawn Dillow, the rookie pilot, was strangely calm for her maiden flight and her first landing on Mars. The old pilot by her side working the controls only appeared calm, and he covered his anxiety by pointing out some of the obvious landmarks.
'Olympus Mons. Awesome, ain't she, Dillow?'
'Craggy. I noticed. Kinda hard to miss.'
Dixon Cragg circled the twenty seven kilometre tall mountain anyway. It was over three times the height of Everest. A rookie like Fawn Dillow might not be impressed by the sight, her first sight damn it, of the highest mountain in the solar system, but it blew him away each time he saw it. 'I must be getting old.'
'What do you mean, getting?'
Cragg didn't bite. 'The controls are all yours. Go low and slow for a complete orbit, one tenth power. Then set her down. They know we are here, but it's traditional to request clearance to land.'
Dillow took the controls and the slow orbit gave Cragg time to reflect on things.
Cragg didn't think of himself as old. Eighty four wasn't old these days, when one hundred and fifty Earth years was the normal life expectancy. But he had one of those “interesting” faces, with deep laughter lines around his grey eyes, and when he laughed, which was often, especially at his own jokes, his face became a roadmap of his life, so that anyone who knew him called him Craggy.
Not a big man, having to stretch himself to make average height, he was lightly built and never quite seemed to fill his spacesuit. Fawn Dillow was actually significantly taller than Cragg. Fifty years younger than him at thirty four, her face was unlikely to gather many lines from laughing; perhaps on her forehead from occasionally frowning. Cragg had done his best on the long journey to make her crack a smile, but he saw little humour in her deep blue eyes. Pretty enough, he thought, but where was her sense of fun?
Cragg blamed the training. Their agenda these days, was to pump the rookies full of confidence. Shrinking violets had no place on the Mars run. Too many variables and imponderables. Things that could and often did go wrong. That's why more females than males made it through the selection process and even most of those had fallen by the wayside in recent years.
It had left a concerning shortage of rookies to hone into fully-fledged pilots. Cragg still suspected there was a bias towards females, because they were thought to be tougher than men. They also had that multi-tasking thing. Probably even the baby thing.
Oh, sure. Nobody officially admitted that. Ooh! That would be illegal. Discrimination. Not allowed in twenty ninety five. Nor the previous century and a half. And sure, the odd, very odd, token male made it through the selection process. When he was a lad, many years ago, things hadn't been positively skewed in favour of one gender or another. And that was a good thing. As a young buck, he liked the ladies. Heck. As an old timer he still did when he got the chance.
Old timer? Shit. He was only eighty four. Barely middle aged. And yet those shit for brains bean crunchers insisted he took early retirement. Technology was changing and as the last of the “old timers” it was time for him to move over for the handful of rookies to grow as pilots. It was a time of transition and he was expected to play his part.
Six years off the mandatory retirement age of ninety, and they were putting him out to grass, whatever grass was. Nobody had seen grass since the hydrogen wars of 2077. He was told to take rookie Fawn Dillow on her maiden flight and assess her so she could get her tickets, then he could come home and retire on full benefits. She would have the same rank has him, Freighter Captain, first class.
Well. That said it all, didn't it? Bulldoze through third and second class, straight up to first class, after six months training. General education started off at four years old. The two thousand Moon inhabitants were allowed only one child per couple to have sustainable resources. Between the age of three and four, preschoolers were scientifically assessed to determine their strengths and natural ability. By the time they were sixteen, they were already specialising into their different roles. They were generally happy students, because they were learning to their strengths.
All had a basic education of mathematics, the common language English, Earth and Moon history, and the sciences. Mechanical ability was specifically channelled, as were the infrastructure workers such as miners, builders, geologists. Only a handful were identified as potential pilots, freighter captains. From that handful, some were further channelled towards ancillary employment that required an understanding of space sciences, such as pod and ship loaders, maintenance technicians, and designers who would be actually making the ships.
Fawn Dillow was an exception. She had worked in ship assembly, but an urge to fly amongst the stars became an obsession. She persuaded the education commander to give her a chance. After much deliberation, it was decided she could train up in her own time, providing she continued her daytime work. She did this and her dedication impressed the lecturers. So much, she was allowed to be a full time student for her final six months.
Her commitment paid off to not only becoming top of her small specialist class, but to be fast tracked to become freighter captain first class. All she was required to do was to be assessed by an experienced freighter captain and they didn't come any more experienced than Dixon Cragg.
But shit. The freighters flew themselves these days, right? Computers? Captains only along for the ride?
So, in the end, he'd agreed to take her in his old ship, due to be decommissioned and stripped for spares. Thumb a ride with Dillow, assess her performance, retire, end of. Three months later, they had made their way from Moon to Mars, and here they were, circling Olympus Mons, and he was seriously thinking retiring would be a good idea.
Moon Commander Anton Forbes hadn't beaten about the bush with Cragg. It was no reflection on the veteran freighter pilot that he was to
be retired early. He had served Moon admirably for many years, but technology was changing and they needed bright young things who could run with it. It was time to help bring on the upcoming rookies who grew up with and embraced the new ways and for him and his old ship to step aside.
Cragg's protestations were waved aside and Forbes had said nothing about what the old pilot would be doing once he'd finally retired. Just some vague indication that something would turn up. After many decades of useful employment, to be suddenly faced with so much uncertainty at his time of life did not sit well with Cragg.
That dark day of being cast aside like some worn out space boot, came ever nearer. Cragg pushed his depressing thoughts to some dark recess of his mind and he concentrated on the landing.
'Get ready to set her down, Dillow. You need a good safe landing as part of your assessment. Kill me and I just might fail you, so make it a good one.'
Landings and take off's were still always the human bits. The boring space bit was left to the computers and even Cragg had little objection to that.
Dillow officially announced their arrival. 'Fawn Dillow requesting clearance to land, please.'
'Clearance granted, Dillow,' came back the reply.
Dillow twiddled knobs, flicked switches, pressed buttons. They were old style controls from a bygone age. Only an old time pilot like Cragg would have any real affinity with such things.
The cargo pods attached between and above the twin plasma engine thrusters at the rear of the freighter, had to be lined up perfectly on the two hundred metre long cradle, the ship itself to rest on a concrete pad at the end of that cradle. The landing thrusters kicked in, swivelled, blasted red iron oxide sand into the thin Martian atmosphere, and the ship settled without the slightest bump.
'All systems disengaged,' said Dillow.
The radio crackled. It was the top man himself, Mars Commander Tagg Potts.
'Craggy. How are you, you old fart?'
'Still younger than you, Pottsy. Mind if we get off this old rust bucket?'
'Depends. You got my booze? Say yes, or you can go back and fetch it.'
'Hey. Keep your bloody voice down, will ya? I want to retire, not get fried for hooch running.'
'Relax. There's a solar storm. They ain't getting any signals on Moon. Misty's got the wagon outside. Said something about greeting you in person.' With a chuckle he added, 'Can't think why. I'll see you in Base Three later. C'mon out.'
Cragg felt Dillow's stare, rather than saw it. 'What?'
'Are you kidding me? You threaten my career by running hooch on my ride?'
Cragg picked up his helmet and locked it in place, regulating the air flow. 'My damn ride, remember? This is my command. You're here just to get your damn tickets.'
'Yeah, but...'
'But nothing. Make yourself useful for a change. Grab a few cases. Try giving smiling a go and make a few friends on Mars.'
An unhappy Dillow followed him to a storage locker. Cragg keyed in a code and the door hissed open. The locker was crammed full of cases.
'Shit!' said Dillow. She had heard of conc, and the skull and crossbones label was a dead giveaway. 'Concentrate? You brought them conc?'
'Of course bloody conc. Not much point bringing anything else. And yes. I know it's a bit naughty...'
'Naughty? Try death penalty.'
Craggy grinned. 'Not on Mars and only if they catch me on Moon. Now grab a couple of cases, will you?' Dillow didn't move. 'Please yourself. It'll soon get it unloaded without you. But take the word of an old hand. You either live by the bloody rule books, or you join the rest of the human race instead. We're a long way from home. This would be a good time to decide.'
Dillow, just stood and stared at him, as if he was something unpleasant stuck on her boot. Cragg sighed, picked up three cases and made his way to the airlock. He was about to nudge the inner airlock door control with his elbow, when she joined him, two cases in her arms.
'Smart girl.' The door hissed open and they both stepped into the airlock. The inner door closed and the outer door opened. A suited woman called Misty Rivers was waiting by the ramp. 'Hi, Misty. Long time no see.'
'Hi, you old goat. Got the good stuff, I see.'
'Only the best for my favourite girl. This is Fawn Dillow.'
'Piss off. Not a relation of Armour Dillow?'
'If by that,' said Dillow, 'you mean Space Security Commander Lance Dillow, I'm his daughter.'
Misty laughed. 'I should take a picture of you carrying conc hooch for his records. Come on. Let's go have a feed.'
Cragg and Dillow followed Misty down the ramp to the eight-wheeled buggy, putting the hooch on the back seat. The monster pod lifter was waiting to unload the freight pods off the cradle. High up in the lifter's cab, the operator could just be made out. 'Scotty. That you?'
'Hi, Craggy. All the pod locks off?'
'You got green lights?'
'Nope.'
'Then the locks are on. When do you want to unload?'
'The pod carrier is delayed at the mine,' said Scotty. 'We'll be moving these pods tomorrow.'
'We'll come back and work with you tomorrow, then.'
Leaving Scotty to organise the unloading of the four pods for the following day, Cragg got in the front seat of the buggy, and sat next to Misty. It was a short drive through the red oxide sand to Base Three. Misty worked the airlock doors with the control panel and entered the base. She parked up and they took off their helmets. Cragg grabbed Misty and planted a kiss on her lips.
'Gross,' said Dillow.
'Ignore her,' said Cragg. 'Her generation seems to think anybody older than eighty shouldn't have a love life.'
'Hey,' said Misty. 'Who are you calling eighty? I'm seventy three, if you must know.'
'Sweetheart. I know you're seventy three. You've been telling me that for the last ten years. Any chance of a feed and a beer?'
'Beer?' said Dillow.
'The Martian equivalent. An acquired taste,' said Misty. 'She's a bit up herself, Craggy.'
'Tell me about it. Try months of being stuck in a can with her. Forget the bloody beer. I need a serious drink.'
A big voice from a big man burst out. 'Hey. Craggy. I thought there was a bad smell in here.'
'Frosty. Try cleaning your teeth. It might go away.'
The big black man hugged Cragg, lifting him off the ground. Cragg said, 'Tell me you have my cigars or I'll kiss you.'
'The very best for you, Craggy. We had a bumper crop.'
'Good. I have customers on Moon lining up for them.'
Dillow shuddered. 'Cigars? Don't you realise that's another death penalty offence.'
Cragg laughed. 'It is? Then it's a good job they can only kill me once.'
Dillow looked anything but amused. 'Do I really have to remind you that the growing of any plant for anything other than food is strictly prohibited?'
Cragg and Frosty shared a look. Cragg said, 'Spoken like a true daughter of the security commander. So what's wrong with cigars? They're made from vitamin T. Tobacco.'
Frosty laughed. 'Craggy. How long have you been sober?'
'Three very long months. It got so bad at one stage, I was tempted to drink the conc. If I don't get shit-faced tonight, I'm going home.'
'I think we can manage that. This way, my friend.'
As the two men walked off, Misty had a word with Dillow. 'A friendly word of advice. Pull your head in, sister. People might actually like you, if you do.'
'I will. So it's true. What happens on Mars, stays on Mars.'
Misty grinned. 'Hang on to that. It'll make for a pleasant stay. Come and get a decent feed.'
Chapter 2
The Mars Base Three was a fully contained ecosystem. One thousand metres by five hundred metres, one hundred metres in height at the highest centre point. One half was generally referred to as “the jungle”, where lush green foliage, trees and flowers provided the oxygen and much of the fruit, not to mention tobacco for home consumption an
d black market trading with Moon.
Biodegradable waste was recycled and composted, worms brought in a decade earlier from Mother Earth, aerated it and the compost fed the jungle. A wallowing pool was surrounded by trees, for recreational use. There was accommodation for up to seven hundred and ninety men and women.
Water from deep bore wells entered Base Two, the water treatment plant, to be filtered and sanitised. It took a lot of effort to run the deep drawn water through the massive banks of neutralisers and filters. The hydroponic garden and fish farm were also in Base Two. All power to run the colony came from solar panels, and a half million litre storage tank of water was always kept in reserve.
Base One was for vehicles and heavy duty equipment storage and maintenance. Air for Bases One and Two was piped in from Base Three. It was a small settlement of hard working people, the pioneers of colonisation of the planet, intended to be the saviour of the human race when the blue planet finally died.
On one wall of the Base Three communal dining room was a slide show of changing images of people showing a fresh one every ten minutes. Frost had been called away on work duties so Cragg was spending time getting up to date with them. Mars Base Commander Tagg Potts had finally made an appearance and he hadn't wasted a minute sampling the alcohol, conc diluted by one hundred to one, to give the desired forty proof strength. He passed out drinks on the rocks to Cragg, Misty Rivers and Fawn Dillow.
Dillow was naturally shocked that the Mars Commander, the man in charge of the planet, was casually drinking booze, one of the most serious offences on Moon that at least would get him a prison sentence, or possibly even the death penalty. That she couldn't recall a time that had actually happened was a testimony to strict laws which worked. Revelations of an underground black market in all things illegal shook the very foundations of her sheltered life.
Potts had an American heritage. His family was from a place once known as New York. The hydrogen wars had left it a desolate and empty reminder of how humans had once been masters of their environment, the crumbling towers wrecked and filling what had been busy, vibrant city streets.
