Free Fade Out by Patrick Tilley

blot out the pictures of aeroplane crash sites that kept coming up like a slide show inside his head. It was always the same. On every takeoff and landing he was gripped by the same anxiety. He unclenched his hands and madea conscious effort to relax as Air Force One made another right turn and rolled straight out on to the runway.
    Pressed back in to his seat by the sudden surge of acceleration, Connors found himself wishing once again he could be up front driving it. He closed his eyes and reminded himself he was on board the safest aeroplane in the world. There was nothing ahead of them for at least thirty minutes. The Air Traffic rules governing Presidential flights ensured that Air Force One would be safely wrapped in a large chunk of clear sky all the way to Washington.
    Wedderkind had worked out that the spacecraft’s flight path would cross theirs, more or less at right angles, somewhere east of the Rockies. ‘But don’t worry,’ Arnold had said. ‘He’ll be nine hundred miles higher than we are.’
    Air Force General Clayson and Mel Fraser had flown together to NORAD Headquarters near Colorado Springs to discuss how the air defence network might counter further radar fade-outs. From there, Clayson planned to go with representatives of the FAA – the Federal Aviation Administration – to discuss emergency flight procedures with the ICAO – the International Civil Aviation Organization in Montreal.
    The Monday papers in the USA and Europe would probably contain some mention of Jodrell Bank’s sighting of the ‘Jupiter probe’. Before leaving California, Wedderkind had telephoned Chris Matson, NASA’s director at Houston, to make sure that NASA didn’t squelch the story in its own press releases. Cargill’s passion for seeing his own name in print was well known in Houston. Matson agreed not to rock the boat in return for Wedderkind’s promise to tell all – at a later date.
    As far as the ICAO or anyone else was concerned, the fade-out was caused by freak solar radiation. There was to be no mention that the spacecraft lacked an identifiable owner, or that it appeared to be the source of theinterference. Delegates from Europe, Russia, and Japan were also expected in Montreal, and the meeting could result in a temporary ban on all bad-weather flying – and night flights such as this…
    â€˜Would you like me to get you a pillow?’
    Connors opened his eyes and saw Jean Seagren.
    â€˜Pillow?’
    â€˜Yeah, good idea. Thanks.’
    Connors eyed her mechanically as she reached up and pulled one off the rack. Not bad, Lieutenant J. Seagren. You have a very passable pair of knees. Pity I don’t really care about that kind of thing any more. Not enough, anyway.
    Seagren tucked the pillow down behind Connors’ head.

Monday/August 6
ABOARD AIR FORCE ONE
    Connors remembered nothing more till he woke to the faint smell of grilled bacon, fresh rolls, and coffee. Jean Seagren hovered over him.
    â€˜We’ll be landing at Andrews in half an hour. Would you like some coffee?’
    â€˜I’ll have some of everything.’ What the hell, let’s live a little. For most of the people on board and for almost everybody on the ground below, it was just another Monday. They had no idea that ever since Friday morning, while they had been living, loving, laughing, and lousing things up, the possible end of their world had been silently circling overhead. Today was Armageddon + 3. No time to worry about dieting. Maybe it would goaway, as Arnold had said. Maybe. After coming this far? Like hell it would…
    Jo Magill, another long-time member of Air Force One’s cabin staff, opened up the table flap in front of him then Jean Seagren covered it with a breakfast tray. Orange juice, toast, two helpings of crisp bacon just the way he liked it, butter, cream – the works.
    â€˜That looks great.’
    â€˜My