None of this was really a surprise. Decades of experience crewing and then commanding a mining ship had given Jennings a good feel for net returns from a tour. He’d known before they even reached Earth that the last one was a bust. But the audited figures removed any possibility of a reprieve.

He truly enjoyed captaining a space vessel. But the financial and administrative sides of the job could be soul-sucking. For twenty-five years, he’d been commanding his own ship—his first command had used the old ion engines—but this was the closest he’d come in all that time to losing it all.

It was an uncertain living, of course. A moderately good strike could keep you going for multiple tours. About a third of the tours earned enough to allow you to break even or come out ahead. It took a string of bad luck, running in the red for several tours in a row, to break you. You’d burn through your reserves, then bet everything you had left on that last throw of the dice…

And always, that dream of the big one. The strike that would take the worries away forever.

Jennings imagined the dice cupped in one of his hands. He stared into infinity for several seconds. He was too old to start over. If they took the Astra, he’d be done.

There had to be options. There were always options.

“When is bridge staff getting here, Ms. Generus?”

“They start coming in on the next ferry, sir. They should all be on board by twelve hundred. Dr. Kemp has a couple of physicals to complete, so he’ll be last in.”

Jennings nodded. “Leave a message with each, please. Status meeting at fifteen hundred. They’ll have time to stow their gear and get cleaned up. I think we have to deal with the financial situation as a priority. Tell them to bring their best ideas.”

4.Departure

4.Departure

And, again, no windows. Ivan was beginning to despair of ever getting a view of the action. Whoever was in charge of designing spaceships didn’t seem to get it.

The small vessel was filled to capacity with the Mad Astra’s crew. The bridge staff were already on board the Astra, doing whatever start-up preparations real astronauts did.

Where the space shuttle had been a polished, finished vessel designed with tasteful décor, the ferries that operated around Olympus Station had more of a welded-together go-kart feel. Seats were reminiscent of beach chairs, and bare metal dominated.

Docking fees being what they were, the captain of the Mad Astra had opted for a parking beacon at a prescribed distance from Olympus Station. The money saved more than made up for the cost of the ferry hired to transport personnel.