Sera put two fingers on the glass of the Tern’s fuel meter and read the margin aloud.
She did it in the cockpit, with the three channel samples stowed in the cargo bay in their sleeves and the jacket’s torn panels drifting somewhere off Sable’s shell, and the exit clock on the console reading less than nothing. They had used the day. Mara had chosen to use it, at the lock, with everyone listening. Now Sera was reading what the day had cost.
“Return reserve,” she said. “What the guild says we need to make Cinder with margin.” She read the figure. “Fuel aboard.” She read that. It was below the first.
She took her fingers off the glass.
“We can’t reach Cinder,” she said. “Not on the standard route, not with the margin, not without help.”
The cockpit was silent.
“There’s a short route,” Sera said. “Past the lattice’s edge, through the debris belt between Sable and Hearth’s outer lamps. Saves a day’s fuel. Maybe more.” Her eyes stayed on the meter. “I’ve flown it once. On the rescue service. We lost a hull plate to debris and came in on one engine. I’m not flying it with five aboard and three samples nobody else has.”
