This is crazy, what we’re doing — it simply is not rational!
But we’re doing it anyway; and I think Adam really expects to find her at Edwards when we get there, or shortly thereafter.
I think I do, too.
But…
Sorry for the interruption. We’re in the midst of a crisis; it’s panic time among our little group. And justifiably so, I’m afraid.
All doubts have vanished; we know that we’re listening in on Candy’s thoughts through Terry — however he’s doing it. And it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what’s happening.
A few minutes ago Terry gasped (I know — whoever heard of a bird gasping?), “What the hell…! That’s atmosphere! What happened to the brakes! Oh, damn, this is going to be hot!”
“Mommy,” said Lisa unhappily, “Candy’s awful scared.”
I wasn’t much of a mother just then. I said, “Yes, dear, I know. Be quiet now and let us hear what’s going on.”
“Knock it off,” snapped Terry. “Let’s get that record wrapped up and safe first. Then be as hysterical as you like. Okay. In through the neck, snap on the helmet; now Kyril’s waist ring, now the spare. There. Both PLSS thermostats cooling at max. Good, maybe it’ll come through okay.
“Now me — oh, Lord, I’m scared…! Pay attention! — right glove — stop fumbling; you’ve done this a dozen times in training! Oh, yeah? — with another pair of gloves on already? Okay. Left glove. Good. Now turn PLSSs down all the way.
“Whoa — gees building up already. Better get up somewhere near the middle of the transverse bulkhead, away from the hull. That hull’s going to get hot!
“Idiot! — don’t forget the record…! Maybe I can wedge the EMU in between those bulkhead stiffeners. There. EMU — stay!
“Hey, where’s my PLSS? Oh, that’s no good; I better…
“What was that! What are they doing; firing the laterals in the atmosphere? Boy, that’s thorough; what a paranoid bunch! I bet nothing in the Free World’s entire defense arsenal could keep this sucker from completing its appointed rounds. Not at — what? — seven miles per second…?
“Oh, damn — how high will I be when I pass over Vandenberg? Why didn’t I think of that before? Too high and the shock wave won’t reach the ground at all; they won’t notice — they’ll miss their only chance! The record can’t warn Teacher if he never finds out about it…!
“No; they’re bound to have radar looking west — watching for the tsunami, if nothing else; that would be their first indication that we failed. Yeah, they’ll notice — they have to notice! And it’ll take an Act of God to keep them away after that. Okay, the warning will get through — if it gets down intact.
“Wonder if I’m going to get down intact — damn, it’s hot in here! I wish they’d quit banging away with those lateral thrusters; it’s hard to hang on.
“Whoo-ee…! Aerodynamic dodging! Wonder if that’s programmed at ten gees, too. Got to admire somebody that determined. Those people — ”
Suddenly Lisa screamed shrilly and clutched at her upper arm.
“Ouch…!” coughed Terry. “Lord, my arm…”
Adam’s head jerked around, his face ashen. Our eyes met in helpless silence.
“Mom-mee-ee…!” wailed Lisa, rubbing her arm. But there was nothing I could do for her: Sometimes it’s not much fun being a Corsican sister.
“Oh, that hurts…!” continued the bird. “Now Adam and I match. Surprised it didn’t smash the inner helmet, too! How am I supposed to climb back up there with this? Hell, how could I hang on even if I — ”
Lisa screamed again.
“Jees-sus…!” panted Terry “I feel like a pingpong ball in a doubles match! Good thing I’m wearing two — ”
Lisa grunted as if the breath had been kicked out of her, then moaned inarticulately.
“Uh…” said Terry. “Where am I? My arm hurts. It’s so hot. Oh, I remem — ”
Lisa shrieked, then sobbed in silence.
“Oh! — wonder how many ribs that was. It hurts…
“What’s that — my PLSS line…! Quick, crimp it off — stop the lea — ”
Lisa “oofed,” her sobbing momentarily interrupted; then she continued. I felt so helpless! For both of them.
“Oh, that was a good one. Wonder what broke that time. Where’s that life-support line? There, crimp it again — crimp it! Not that it matters — it’s getting so hard to breathe. So hot… Oh, damn, I thought maybe it would work; I wanted — ”
Lisa hardly reacted at all that time; only an added moan on top of her crying.
“What a choice — cook, suffocate… beat to a pulp…”
“Mommy,” whimpered Lisa, hands at her throat, “I can’t breathe…”
“God… bless Mother and Father… Smith, and Momma and Daddy Foster and… Teacher… and Adam and Kim and Lisa. And Terry… oh — please take… care of Ter — ”
The bird fell silent. He fluffed, hunched. His eyes went blank. He began to make a soft keening sound. Lisa stopped crying. I started.
“Terry can’t feel her, Mommy,” whispered Lisa in stricken tones. “She’s not scared anymore.”
That’s when Adam slammed the throttle forward and lowered the nose. Our airspeed indicator is now pegged at the red line. In theory, the plane can break up if we go any faster. In practice, the exhaust-gas temperature readings are over the limit already.
But the dry lake is in sight. We can glide from here if we have to.
Only a few minutes more…
There it is…! Whatever it is. It looks something like a shuttle, but bigger. It’s dead black. It’s a threatening-looking machine somehow. It’s well above us, approaching from the west, descending rapidly. There are no lights or windows. There are no markings.
Adam is diving the plane to pick up even more speed. It’s right at our height now, crossing in front of us. Adam is turning to follow, losing ground.
We’re over the dry lake bottom now. There’s a good five or ten miles of smooth, flat surface ahead. It’s well ahead of us now, beginning its flare-out. It’s only feet above the ground. There’s no sign of landing gear yet — it’s down; it touched down on its belly. It’s sliding smoothly along the lake bottom, trailing an immense plume of dust, slowing gradually.
We’re overtaking it, skimming along just above the ground, bleeding off our dive-induced excess speed.
We’re alongside now, and Adam is slowing us, maintaining formation.
Our wheels are down — isn’t that thing ever going to stop…?
Lisa is becoming agitated. She’s begun to whisper, “Hurry, Mommy; hurry, Mommy,” through her tears.
Terry just began to moan.
Adam glanced across at him, his face an absolute death mask. “That’s the noise he made before,” he remarked in a controlled, brittle, horribly offhand manner, “when her heart stopped after she pulled me out of the fire and stitched up my leg.”
We’re almost stopped — I don’t know what’s going to happen, but Adam is still wearing that expression.