Last Flight For Craggy

Last
Flight For Craggy © 2013 Gary Weston

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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.

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.'