Free Perigee by Patrick Chiles Page A

that it was hard to see the computers were in control. He was prepared to hand-fly it all the way over the top if necessary. “Autothrottles are working so far,” he finally said. “Another nice surprise.”
    …
     
    Marcy was likewise pressed hard into her seat at the rear of the cabin, but kept an attentive eye on her passengers.
    Magrath sat by himself up front with his staff sequestered in the seats behind him. Marcy watched as one alternately looked out the window and down at a notebook in his lap. He appeared to be earnestly working on something, one more person who didn’t feel the need to listen to her safety briefs. He’s going to have to pick a head position fast , she thought, and thumbed a switch on the microphone cable in her lap. “Please keep your head and arms in one position for your own safety. Just lay back against the seat and you’ll have a nice ride.”
    The man’s head came to a stop just as Tom’s voice could be heard over the cabin speakers. “Good evening everyone. If you’re watching the display up at the front of the cabin, you’ll see our speed and altitude. Once we reach Mach seven, we’ll pull into a steeper climb and turn this into a real rocket ride for you. You’ll eventually feel about three times normal gravity. This will be a longer boost than you might be used to, but you’ll get to enjoy a longer weightless period when it’s over. We’ll top out with an apogee a little over four hundred nautical miles with a speed of almost twelve thousand miles an hour. We’ll arrive at Singapore in ninety minutes.”
    …
     
    The Austral Clipper thundered across the night sky above Nebraska, faintly silhouetted against the darkness by its blazing exhaust. Farther south, another Clipper could be seen on its own high-speed climb to space. Far removed from interfering city lights, anyone watching from the ground could discern their own shadow by the distant glow from above. For a few minutes they were the brightest objects in the sky, man-made meteors climbing swiftly into the night.

14
     
    Denver
One day earlier
     
    At the crew hotel on the other side of the airfield, Ryan was just thinking about catching Marcy downstairs for lunch when his phone rang. It was a control center number, no doubt crew scheduling calling with a new trip.
    “Hunter,” he answered with feigned irritation, “what do you want?” Hope they don’t have to airmail me somewhere, he thought. Deadheading into a new trip was never a good deal—arrive bone-tired from one flight, only to pick up your own and fly it to wherever they tell you.
    “This is Frank Kirby.” Surprised, Ryan pulled the phone from his ear to double-check the number. Why is the chief pilot calling me…and from a scheduling phone?
    Whatever it was, there had to be a good reason. “Afternoon Frank,” he replied pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”
    “We need your crew to ferry a spare plane to Frankfurt. 508 got struck by lightning on final. It’s sitting in a hangar with pinhole burns through the nose and tail, and there’s a maze of fried electronics in between,” he explained. Lightning strikes were a subtle problem that rarely left behind the smoking holes that were popularly imagined. “The whole fleet’s scattered to hell and gone, and we’re trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. So you’ll ferry into position, recover the live leg back here, then pick up your normal line to Sydney. Sound good?”
    Ryan kneaded the back of his neck, wondering why the Chief Pilot was calling him for this. One thing at a time, hot dog. Answer the question first . “Sounds great. I was afraid you guys were about to deadhead me somewhere. When’s our show time?”
    “1900 local.”
    “I’ll be there. Who am I flying with?” he asked, hoping to lead their boss into answering his unspoken question.
    “Gentry, if we can find him,” Kirby grumbled, not attempting to mask his irritation. He was famously short-tempered, a