“We need a pilot,” said Dog. “Maybe Mack Smith—”
“Piffle.” Rubeo’s face contorted. “Smith would have it rolling into the ocean within minutes. Colonel, the computer can fly it. That’s what it’s designed to do.”
“I want someone at the controls.”
“Naturally. I’ll be at the controls, with Fichera as backup,” said Rubeo. “Along with the rest of the team. Precisely as designed. This is what the system was created for.”
“Where’s Zen?”
“Why Zen?”
“He’s flown the B-5.”
“He merely guided the computer by voice as far as that goes, he’s no more competent than I. Freddy, Colonel, I not only have considerably more experience flying the aircraft, but—”
“No offence, Doc, but I want a combat pilot at the controls.” Dog turned to the lieutenant handling the communications panel. “Get Major Stockard.”
“Colonel—”
“We’ve been over this, Ray. I appreciate your getting it ready—that was damn sharp of you. But I want an experienced pilot making the call when the shit hits the fan. The scramjets—they’re still a problem?”
“They function within parameters.”
“Plan the flight without using them.”
“That’s overly cautious,” said Rubeo. “The problem was in sensors. They’re due to be tested on the flight.”
“Then set it up so that they’re used on the back end of the flight—on the return to Dreamland.”
“There’s no reason not to use them in-flight,” insisted Rubeo.
“If they fail we’ll have to return home.”
Rubeo’s face paled ever so slightly. “As you wish,” he said.
“Major Stockard is on the line, sir. They’re just landing on Okinawa,” said the lieutenant.
“It’ll take ten or twelve hours to get here,” said Rubeo.
“Eight,” said Gat.
Ascenzio’s voice surprised Dog—he’d actually forgotten the others were in the room.
“Hardly,” hissed Rubeo. “But even if it were only eight, you want to lose all that time? We can have the UMB off the main runway in four hours, perhaps even less.”
“Zen doesn’t have to be here, does he?” asked Dog. “If he’d guiding by voice. You just have to work out a connection, right?”
“It’s not that simple.” Rubeo frowned, then put his finger on his small gold earring. “I’d have to talk to Dr. Gleason. Maybe,” he added, as if reluctant to concede his assistant would have the final say. “The communication protocols—if we use the channels reserved for the extra Flighthawks, and reprogram them into the network. Maybe. Yes.”
“Put Major Stockard on the screen.”
His son-in-law’s helmeted face came on the screen. Zen was still piloting a Flighthawk and had his visor down; he looked a bit like a race car driver in his crash cage, head bobbing left and right before he spoke. “Stockard.”
“Jeff, I want to talk with you, Major Alou, and Jennifer Gleason,” said Dog. “Dr. Rubeo has an idea—”
“This is not exactly my idea,” said Rubeo.
“I have an idea,” said Dog. The others plugged into the line and he laid it out.
“I think we can do it,” said Jennifer. “We may even be able to use the Flighthawk controls for limited maneuverability.”
“Don’t get fancy,” said Dog. “There’s no time.”
“It’s not fancy—we built the control section from the same module; it’s meant to be portable.”
“That storm’s pretty fierce,” said Zen.
“The KH Storm and Eyes modules are to be tested,” said Rubeo, using the nicknames for the sensor arrays. “We’ll see anything we want to see.”
“Can I see them on my screens?” asked Zen.
“That part’s easy,” said Jennifer.
“Voice commands can be issued by myself—or even you, Colonel,” said Rubeo. “There’s no need to create a camel here—with all due respect to Major Stockard, I’d imagine he’s tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“I want a combat pilot at the controls,” insisted Dog. “Major Alou, Admiral Woods may call you to assist other missions. Could you accomplish them while you’re handling this?”
“I don’t know that we can be in two places at one time,” said Major Alou.
“You won’t have to be,” said Jennifer. “It’ll be just like a regular mission with Flighthawks—except you won’t have to stay close to the UMB. We can do it, Tecumseh.”
Her use of his name paralyzed him; he felt a strange mix of love and fear.
“Ray,” she continued, “on the Piranha translation module, the 128 processor—”
“Yes. The assembler will—”
“But we won’t need the weapon section.”
“That’s where we’re routing the KH radar unit.”
“I can do it, I can do it. We can use the channels reserved for the helmets. I can do it!”
“Don’t play schoolgirl.”
“All right, listen,” said Dog. “Major Alou—you land your plane, gas up, take off ASAP. Dr. Gleason and Dog—” he pointed at Rubeo. “See what you can work out. I want a go, no-go recommendation in two hours. Less if possible.”