home when the comet arrived, a state of affairs that clearly disappointed the kids. The mother began a lecture about how this was not funny and they were lucky to be on their way.
Tony climbed the ladder and slipped through the overhead hatch onto the flight deck.
Saber was going through the preflight routine. “Hello, Tony,” she said, smiling at him over one shoulder. She was tall and lean, almost six feet, with a boyish build. She had black hair and luminous blue eyes, and despite her lack of dimensions, never seemed to want for male escorts. Her name was Alisa Rolnikaya, and she’d been born in Florence into Russian diplomat’s family. She’d been born in Florence into a Russian diplomat’s family. She’d learned to fly when she was fifteen, returned to her family’s home in St. Petersburg for her education, learned to fly jets, and spent several years with a NATO squadron whose pilots had been mostly Italian. There she’d acquired the code name “Saber,” which had followed her to the Moon. The name fit. Tony thought. There was an edge to her personality, and to her sense of humor. She’d been with the Lunar Transport Authority three months, and her assignment to the Micro was her first. So far she seemed competent enough.
“Have you seen the comet pictures?” she asked.
He nodded. He was already making retirements plans. Below, Shen was getting the passengers seated.
“Switch to internal power,” said Saber.
“Micro.” Moonbase Control on the circuit.
“Go ahead, Control.”
“You are unplugged and ready for departure in six minutes.”
The Micro was a sphere set on top of a pair of landingtreads. The flight deck was located inside a blister at the top of the sphere. At that moment Tony was looking out across the bay, where he could see the power and fuel umbilicals dropping away. The indicator lamps on his status board blinked yellow. Depressurization in the bay had begun.
The pad clamps released.
Tony listened to the sounds in the cabin below: footsteps, voices, luggage being placed in the overhead bins. Then the closing of hatches, inner and outer. The air pumps picked up a notch.
Shen reported the passenger cabin ready for departure.
Control again: “Micro, your turnaround time at L1 is going to be as quick as they can make it. Sleep when you can. It doesn’t look as if you’re going to have any down time until Friday.”
“That’s what I hear. It’s going to get rank in the old Micro.”
Saber smiled and shook her head. They both knew there’d be a quick break while the vehicle was being serviced after each flight. Not a lot of time, but enough to get scrubbed off and change into a fresh uniform.
“It’s always been rank in the old Micro,” said a new voice, which Tony recognized as that of the operations supervisor, Bigfoot Caparatti.
“Hello, Bigfoot,” he said.
“See you when you get back, Tony,” said Caparatti. “Good flight.”
The over head doors began to open.
“Green board, Tony,” said Saber.
“Countdown to ignition. On my mark. Ten…”
The Micro mounted a single General Electric 7RV engine, capable of providing a steady one-g acceleration. At zero, Tony started it. It roared into life. The flight deck trembled and the Micro began to rise. Then they were out of the illuminated bay, ascending into the night.
White House, Truman Room. 1:27 P.M.
“Al, is everyone here?”
The president had summoned his cabinet for a teleconference about the comet with two scientific experts.
Kerr had been talking with the secretary of defense when Henry entered. He glanced around the table, did a quick count, and nodded. “Yes, Mr. President. Only one missing is Hopkins.”
Armand Hopkins, the secretary of the interior, was on the West Coast. Henry took his seat, trying not to show that he was in pain. He hurt all the time now, but only Emily knew. And probably Al.
Henry had been a vibrant, energetic head of state during the first two years. He still tried
Tony climbed the ladder and slipped through the overhead hatch onto the flight deck.
Saber was going through the preflight routine. “Hello, Tony,” she said, smiling at him over one shoulder. She was tall and lean, almost six feet, with a boyish build. She had black hair and luminous blue eyes, and despite her lack of dimensions, never seemed to want for male escorts. Her name was Alisa Rolnikaya, and she’d been born in Florence into Russian diplomat’s family. She’d been born in Florence into a Russian diplomat’s family. She’d learned to fly when she was fifteen, returned to her family’s home in St. Petersburg for her education, learned to fly jets, and spent several years with a NATO squadron whose pilots had been mostly Italian. There she’d acquired the code name “Saber,” which had followed her to the Moon. The name fit. Tony thought. There was an edge to her personality, and to her sense of humor. She’d been with the Lunar Transport Authority three months, and her assignment to the Micro was her first. So far she seemed competent enough.
“Have you seen the comet pictures?” she asked.
He nodded. He was already making retirements plans. Below, Shen was getting the passengers seated.
“Switch to internal power,” said Saber.
“Micro.” Moonbase Control on the circuit.
“Go ahead, Control.”
“You are unplugged and ready for departure in six minutes.”
The Micro was a sphere set on top of a pair of landingtreads. The flight deck was located inside a blister at the top of the sphere. At that moment Tony was looking out across the bay, where he could see the power and fuel umbilicals dropping away. The indicator lamps on his status board blinked yellow. Depressurization in the bay had begun.
The pad clamps released.
Tony listened to the sounds in the cabin below: footsteps, voices, luggage being placed in the overhead bins. Then the closing of hatches, inner and outer. The air pumps picked up a notch.
Shen reported the passenger cabin ready for departure.
Control again: “Micro, your turnaround time at L1 is going to be as quick as they can make it. Sleep when you can. It doesn’t look as if you’re going to have any down time until Friday.”
“That’s what I hear. It’s going to get rank in the old Micro.”
Saber smiled and shook her head. They both knew there’d be a quick break while the vehicle was being serviced after each flight. Not a lot of time, but enough to get scrubbed off and change into a fresh uniform.
“It’s always been rank in the old Micro,” said a new voice, which Tony recognized as that of the operations supervisor, Bigfoot Caparatti.
“Hello, Bigfoot,” he said.
“See you when you get back, Tony,” said Caparatti. “Good flight.”
The over head doors began to open.
“Green board, Tony,” said Saber.
“Countdown to ignition. On my mark. Ten…”
The Micro mounted a single General Electric 7RV engine, capable of providing a steady one-g acceleration. At zero, Tony started it. It roared into life. The flight deck trembled and the Micro began to rise. Then they were out of the illuminated bay, ascending into the night.
White House, Truman Room. 1:27 P.M.
“Al, is everyone here?”
The president had summoned his cabinet for a teleconference about the comet with two scientific experts.
Kerr had been talking with the secretary of defense when Henry entered. He glanced around the table, did a quick count, and nodded. “Yes, Mr. President. Only one missing is Hopkins.”
Armand Hopkins, the secretary of the interior, was on the West Coast. Henry took his seat, trying not to show that he was in pain. He hurt all the time now, but only Emily knew. And probably Al.
Henry had been a vibrant, energetic head of state during the first two years. He still tried
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