Desperate Measures

“What do you mean, we can’t dock?” Jeremy demanded, glaring at the comm panel as if that might make a difference to the disembodied voice on the other end.

“We aren’t allowing any ships from Mars to dock here,” the voice patiently explained.  “With the sickness there, we can’t risk it getting into Titan’s atmosphere.  No one knows how they will interact.”

“We aren’t sick!” Jeremy lied, stealing a glance back at the door that led to the cabin room, where his wife lay dying.  “We made it through quarantine with a clean bill of health, but we’re low on supplies and must restock!”  They hadn’t had time to pack enough supplies to last them very long, not with having to run to beat the quarantine.  Anyone with late stages, like Melissa, was being killed and the bodies burned, in a wild attempt at stopping the sickness.  The government locked the planet down to keep it from spreading, but the civilians had panicked and brought on their own method of protecting themselves.

It was far from the sanctioned murder that sometimes happened during crisis times, but it was too rampant to be controlled.

“Really?”  The voice was suspicious.  Jeremy couldn’t blame the guy.  It wasn’t like plagues made people act rationally.  “If you can show official approval, we may be able to send you some supplies, but we cannot allow you to land.”

Official approval.  Well, that was the trick, wasn’t it?  “Sure,” he said, his mind racing.  “Just let me get that together and send it down to you.”  Buying time, that was all he could do.  Of course they would ask for something with a seal.  He’d been too desperate to be able to organize anything in time.  Well, if he’d escaped from Mars, he could escape from orbit around Titan.  He just didn’t know how far they’d get this time.