The planet we were meant to land on is three thousand light years to the west, but I suppose that’s what I get for letting Jeremy pilot the ship. In all honesty, he did warn me that he had no sense of direction and that finding his own nose was a challenge most days, but really?
This ship as an automated steering system. I’d already typed in co-ordinates in, we were all set, all Jeremy had to do was press go and woosh! He could sit back and watch the stars burn by one by one. He wasn’t supposed to ignore the system and try flying for himself.
Do you know what he told me? He told me that he had a hunch. A bloody hunch that contradicted the computer with an IQ three hundred times his own. I should have put his bloody head through the control panel, but that would have left us stuck here.
Then again we are stuck here until the next re-fuelling vessel can detour our way and stock up the tanks.
Until then we’re parked up in a bog and I’m pretty sure the ground stabilizer aren’t working all that well. Sammy’s convinced we’re three inches lower today than we were yesterday. She keeps checking the landing struts with that marker of hers. muttering on about something and nothing instead of actually trying to fix the problem.
I tell you, the Guild lumped me with a right set of idiots this time.
Geniuses the lot of them, but idiots all the same. They’ll be lucky if I don’t toss them all to the marshes and be done with it. I could say it was an accident if that re-fuelling vessel ever arrives.
Capitan’s Comments On The Terrain: Even more of a shit-hole that the last forsaken place we landed on, and that’s saying something.
Captain Martin Renke did not like strangers aboard his ship. He didn’t trust strangers, and being stuck with someone you don’t trust twenty thousand feet above the ground in something that for all intensive purposes should not be flying was a dangerous thing.
Dr Grass was a dangerous thing.
The scientist was escorted aboard the ship an hour before dawn by a retinue of armed guards, most of whom were only one twitch away from unloading their clips into the back of the man’s head.
‘He’s… odd,’ their commanded had explained. ‘Really odd.’ Then he’d thrown the papers stamped with the royal seal into Renke’s hands and left.
Grass had been smiling.
Three hours later Grass had stopped smiling and was puking over the side of the ship.
Tucked away in his cabin, Renke ran his thumb over the seal and examined the papers.