Zero-G (32 page)

Condor
tipped its wings to the left, then a moment later to the right, then leveled off again. Jim was waving to the crowd. As before, the runway passed beneath them, then gave way to the desert. From here, it would all be up, up, up.

“Off we go, folks.” The electronics did not diminish the enthusiasm in Jim's voice.

The aircraft turned nose up, striking a thirty-degree angle to the plane of the ground and Tuck could hear —could feel — Jim pushing the engines to full power. There was nothing for him to do now but wait for his turn.

Ten minutes into the flight, the craft began to bounce, moving up and down, up and down. It felt as though the two craft were about to come apart and go their separate ways.

“Is . . . is this normal?” It was Ginny.

Lance answered before Tucker could. “Perfectly normal. Remember we spoke about deflection. Rigid things break; flexible things don't. We're just passing through some turbulence. It should all stop when we reach higher altitudes.”

“Yippie aye ay! Ride 'em, cowboy.”

Tuck laughed and cut his eyes toward Lance. The comment came from Daki Abe, and hearing the old cowboy saying uttered in a Japanese accent was worth a belly laugh.

Before Tuck could respond, the craft rumbled and vibrated, the noise filling the cabin. Ginny released a little scream, Donnelly said, “Whoa,” and even the unflappable Daki uttered a frightened groan. Only Burke remained silent. Tuck's eyes skipped across the instrument panel: everything was as it should be.

The plan was simple: from here Jim would fly the
Condor
in a spiral miles wide, until he reached the desired altitude twenty miles west of the spaceport. Tuck could do nothing but watch the gauges as the altimeter continued to spin: ten thousand feet, twelve thousand feet, fifteen thousand feet, twenty thousand feet and more. His fingers fidgeted. On any day and at any time, he would rather be pilot than passenger. His wife had told him on many occasions that he had serious control issues. Tuck never argued the point.

At twenty thousand feet, the craft began to shake with bone-jarring force. Tuck's stomach rose to the middle of his chest as the craft lost altitude. The rumbling and rattling left as quickly as it came, replaced by smooth, nearly silent flight.

“Man, that'll make a man toss his cookies.”

“You brought cookies, Donnelly?” Tuck tried to inject a little humor into the moment.

“Maybe, but a few more bumps like that and I won't be sharing with you.”

“Don't blame me. I'm just a passenger for this leg of the trip. You need to blame the pilot.”

“Hey, I heard that.” Jim's sense of humor was intact. “Sorry about that, folks, but we had a little more turbulence. Nothing to worry about. It happens all the time.”

“I suggest you leave that part out of the brochure,” Donnelly said.

The nervous chatter died as the plane continued to climb in its long leisurely circle. The altimeter continued to spin toward the higher numbers: thirty thousand feet . . . thirty-five thousand feet. They now passed the altitude that most commercial liners flew. Below, large physical objects now seemed tiny. The desert terrain revealed its wrinkles, its rills, its hills, and various hues of brown.

The higher they climbed the darker the sky became. Tuck had seen it all before but at a much more accelerated rate. Before he had been strapped into a seat on the flight deck of the Shuttle and watched blue become black as the craft was propelled into space. This was a more leisurely pace. There was nothing of rockets, no bone-vibrating roar, at least not yet.

At fifty thousand feet, the two massive engines strained to provide propulsion. The thin air at this altitude was starving the engines, and if Jim Tolson was not careful, they would quit altogether.

The time had come.

Jim's voice again. “
Legacy
,
Condor
approaching separation. I show all green across my board.”

“
Condor
,
Legacy
approaching separation. We show all green here.” Tuck wiggled in his seat, making himself comfortable and forcing his mind to focus on the next few events to take place. “Ground Control,
Legacy
.We show all green for separation.”

“Roger that,
Legacy
. Everything looks great from down
here. Proceed at your discretion.”

Tuck looked at Lance and gave a nod. Lance took the cue.

“Alrighty, folks,” Lance said in a tone fitting a tourist guide. “It's time to put the pedal to the metal. Please make yourself comfortable in your seats. I trust no one has undone their harness; if so let me know right now.”

No one spoke.

Lance continued. “I'll take that to mean that everyone is still strapped in nice and cozy. Please lower your visors and lay your head back on the seat. I also recommend that you take hold of the armrests and relax.”

“I can't believe I ever thought this was a good idea,” Ginny said.

“You haven't changed your mind, have you, Ms.Lin?” Burke's words had a fatherly tone.

“Just questioning my sanity; pay no attention to me.”

Jim Tolson said, “Pitching in three, two, one.”

The
Condor
's nose rose into the air, its engines screaming.

“Stand by for release,” Jim stated.

Tuck replied, “Ready for release on your mark.”

Jim brought the nose up more. “In three, two, mark.”

Legacy
dropped like a rock and Tuck's heart and stomach took the express elevator up.

Seconds passed at glacial speeds. Finally, Tuck heard the words he had been waiting for.

“
Condor
is clear.” Lance stared out the window watching as Jim Tolson steered the craft away from the plummeting
Legacy
.

As soon as Lance spoke those words came a radio transmission from Jim, “
Legacy
,
Condor
. I show a clear separation. The apron strings are cut. Godspeed and happy flying.”

“Thanks for the lift,
Condor
. Rocket ignition in three, two, one.” Tuck lifted the safety cap from over the ignition switch and pressed the button. A half second later, he was pressed into his seat. Despite
Legacy
's sound insulation, despite the helmet with its closed visor, Tuck heard the growl of the rocket. The roar was strong, steady, and sounded exactly as it should. He wondered what the others were feeling, but he and Lance had switched off communication between cockpit and cabin, fearful that screams of joy or terror might interfere with communication.

Each new second brought greater force against Tuck's body. In a few more moments, they would be experiencing three-Gs of acceleration force. Again, Tuck was in a passive role; the computers were feathering the wings and making decisions in microseconds. It was always a blow to his ego that a computer could outmaneuver him, but he had learned long ago to accept the fact.

The altimeter spun wildly. A companion digital readout gave the numbers in thousands of feet. Outside, an azure blue sky gave way to navy blue, which in turn gave way to cobalt, which in turn gave way to ebony.

The sound of the engine began to change, indicating the steady depletion of fuel. There was far too little air outside the craft to carry much sound, but the vibrations in a pressurized cabin did the trick on the inside. Tuck waited for what he knew would come.

Sudden silence.

Legacy
continued to rise, no longer in need of the driving force of rocket engine. Its momentum in micro-gravity was enough to carry it to its planned height. Tuck let his eyes drift from the flight indicators to the window by his head — and once again fell in love with space.

“I tell you what, Lance. I don't think I'll ever get used to this.”

“Roger that, Commander. Roger that, indeed.”

“Would you like the honors?”

Lance toggled his mike so the passengers could hear. “Lady and gentlemen, welcome to the edge of space.”

Tuck would've heard the cheer even without the intercom system.

“Ground Control,
Legacy
:
Legacy
is flying high. I repeat,
Legacy
is flying high.”

Inside the hangar, Roos and the gathered VIPs let loose an ear-splitting cheer. Several large television monitors had been positioned so that visitors could see every aspect of the launch. One monitor showed only open blue sky;
Legacy
was too far up for the ground telescope to see. Another monitor showed Tuck and Lance at the controls of the craft, while still another monitor showed the cockpit of
Condor
and Jim. Of course, one other monitor provided a video feed of the cabin where four passengers made history by being the first individuals to fly in a commercial spacecraft.

Roos hugged everyone in reach, including the three people who sat at a bank of monitors and controls called Ground Control.

“Champagne,” he called. “Champagne for everyone.”

From outside the hangar came the applause and cheers of those in the stands.

It had taken some finagling and he had to call in more favors than necessary, but there he stood in the midst of a cheering crowd who'd witnessed one of the greatest achievements in the commercialization of space. But he wasn't here to celebrate the success of someone else.

He had other plans.

Applauding with the others, his face turned skyward, he slowly made his way to the hangar.

Quain pulled the Lincoln to the guarded barricade and waved at the guard, who immediately let him in. He drove through the gate and turned left on the back road that ran behind the spectator stands and hangar. Parking the car at the southwest corner of the hangar, he exited, moved to the trunk, and removed two dark gray backpacks. As leisurely as a man might carry a plastic bag of trash to a garbage can, Quain made his way to an area behind and just below the temporary bleachers and deposited one of the travel sacks. He carried the other small bag in his right hand.

Quain resisted the urge to whistle while he walked.

THIRTY

A
mazing. No, it's beyond amazing.” The words came over Tuck's headset at just above a whisper. Nonetheless, Tuck recognized the voice of Theodore Burke.

Ginny's voice was even softer. “I can't believe I'm in space.”

“To boldly go . . .” The words bore a Japanese accent.

Donnelly piped up, “Wait a minute, wait a minute, you're not going to quote the whole
Star Trek
prologue, are you?”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Daki asked.

“For one, it's corny; for two, it has a split infinitive.”

“A split . . . infinitive?”

To Tuck's surprise it was Ginny who explained. “ ‘To boldly go where no man has gone before' should have been written ‘to go boldly where no man has gone before.' It's a minor difference. Mr. Writer wants the grammar to be perfect.”

“I'm impressed,” Donnelly said.

“You shouldn't be. I went to school. Actress doesn't mean dumb.”