The Art of Desperation

I stared at the canisters in front of me, the Martian dust coating them like a burial shroud.

Fuel.

Precious. Scarce. Unstable.

The metal casings were pitted with age, corrosion eating away at their surfaces. Some had dents, others had leaks. A few had rusted so thoroughly I doubted they'd survive transport, let alone ignition.

I didn't have the luxury of trusting them blindly.

If even one of these tanks was compromised and I hooked it into my ship's systems, I'd go up in flames before I ever left the ground.

I needed a test.

I grabbed a small container, one of the less corroded ones, and carefully extracted a sample. Then, working in the shadow of my ship, I set up a controlled ignition.

A small chamber. A measured spark.

I braced myself and activated the test.

The flame flared up—blue, steady.

A good burn.

Usable.

I let out a slow breath of relief. At least some of it was viable.