Below Mercury by Mark Anson

spaceplane was preparing to leave on its climb into orbit.
    Clare watched a full minute go past on the mission clock.
    ‘That should do it,’ she said, checking their distance from the spaceplane on the navigation display.
    ‘Yeah, we’re clear. Shall I let them know?’
    ‘No, I’ll do it.’ Clare thumbed the transmit button on her sidestick and spoke into the slender microphone of her headset. Her softer voice was a contrast to the clipped words of the copilot, and the crew of the spaceplane might have paused for a moment in their pre-climb checks, as they tried to place the familiar voice.
    ‘Tanker Seven Four, clear of launch area. Contact Guam Centre for orbital climb clearance. Goodbye – and Godspeed.’
    The huge bulk of the tanker swayed from side to side as it mashed its way through the last few hundred metres of humid air towards the runway at Andersen Base. It tilted its nose slightly at the sky, and then sank onto the runway, spurts of smoke springing from its tyres.
    The spoilers deployed, and Clare lowered the nose to the ground. She braked the tanker to a brisk roll and let the runway trundle past, as their allocated taxiway drew towards them.
    Keeping a careful lookout, she steered the tanker off the runway, towards the domes and spheres of the fuel storage area. There was another launch tonight, and the fuel tanks needed to be chilled down and reloaded in preparation. The voice of Andersen Ground Control came and went in her headset, directing her through the maze of turns and taxiways towards the fuelling apron.
    A ground handler on the tarmac ahead waited for her, and as the tanker approached he motioned with one bat, signalling her to turn. She turned the giant aircraft round and moved it forwards slowly into its assigned position, until the handler made the ‘stop’ sign, and finally signalled to cut the engines.
    ‘Been a good mission, ma’am,’ her copilot remarked as the whine of the turbofans faded.
    ‘Yeah – we did a good job,’ Clare muttered, as they ran through the post-flight checklist, returning various switches and controls to the proper settings.
    For a moment, she almost believed it. It had been a good mission; they had carried it out faultlessly, the spaceplane had gone on its way without a hitch, and they were back where they should be, when they should be.
    A good mission. Only …
    Clare felt that soft, grey feeling inside that only those who have tasted success and achievement can know, the little voice inside you that tells you that you aren’t being stretched, that you aren’t learning anything, that you’re sinking into routine. In a few short years you’ll just be looking on it as a job, a means to make money, you’ll never be back up there again, up there where you wanted to be, where—
    ‘Ma’am?’ The copilot was looking at her.
    Clare looked back, blankly.
    ‘It’s the duty controller on ground control. He wants to speak to you.’
    Clare pressed the transmit. ‘This is Captain Foster.’
    ‘Duty Controller here. I have a message for you from the group commander. You’ve been assigned to Deep Space Transportation with immediate effect. You’re to report to the training centre at zero nine hundred hours tomorrow for a mission briefing. That’s it.’
    ‘Roger that, sir. Out,’ Clare responded, and pushed her seat back. A half-smile played on her face.
    Perhaps today was going to be a better day, after all.

PART II
Mission to Mercury

CHAPTER NINE
    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