“Engine trouble, sir. Losing altitude fast.”
“Do you know the nature of the trouble?”
“Negative. Might have thrown a compressor blade. Got a fire indication, then a compressor surge. Chopped off the power.”
Towers frowned. “Why didn’t you use straight rocket power?”
“Well, sir—”
“Never mind now. You may have encountered oxygen or hydrogen-rich atmosphere—melted your compressor blades. Try an air start on straight rocket. I want that ship back, Brandon. Repeat, I want that ship back!”
“I may be able to ride it down. Get it on the deck intact.”
“Try an air start, Brandon.” Towers leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Brandon. “I don’t want you to set foot on that planet, get me?”
But there wasn’t time to try anything. The cabin was filling with fumes. Brandon looked down. A fringe of blue flame crept along between the floor and the bottom of the pilot’s capsule. A cold ache filled the cavity of his stomach.
“Too late. I’m on fire! Capsuling out. Repeat, capsuling out.”