Everything looks good. We're in a perfect alignment for an orbital intercept with the US/iCosmos and the K1 when the DarkStar does its little maneuver.
Let's just hope they don't decide to laser me. I'm pretty sure the wavelength absorbing material that covers this thing is the exact opposite of what you want around you when you're the target of a high-energy weapon.
We're in the final stage. In less than a half hour I'll either be in orbit or a firework.
I close my eyes to relax for a moment but have to open them when something bright starts to flash unexpectedly.
I reach a hand out to touch the panel but jerk it back in surprise when Vin's face appears on the screen.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
I freeze, not sure what is going on.
"I can see you, David. Did you know that I monitor every launch from a window on my screen? Not many people do."
"Uh… hey, Vin." Should I unbuckle and try to get out of the ship before security gets here? Hold on… maybe I can talk him out of that. "How did you know I was here?"
"When I started iCosmos I didn't want to get complacent. I promised myself that for at least the first thousand people in space I'd watch and make sure that they got there safely.
"That's a hell of a lot of pressure, if you think about it. If something bad happens, I have to watch it live. Imagine my surprise when my terminal tells me there's a live feed in a cargo module where there shouldn't be. When I open it up, who do I see? You. Have you seen our stock price lately? The board of directors is talking about replacing me…"
"Vin…"
He shakes his head and cuts me off. "Everything I've worked for, David — everything is on the line because of you."
"I didn't have a choice…"
"Really? What are you doing now?"
I think about Markov's warning about the reach of Silverback. "I'm not at liberty to say."
"I'm not stupid, David. I could tell Peterson and Bennet were up to something." I see his arms move as he types on his keyboard. "I just spent the last several days in what I'd technically call Federal custody after three of my astronauts caused an international incident."
All my screens go dark except for his video. He just shut me down.
"Vin! Don't!"
"I'm asking you again, what are you doing here?"
"You have to trust me."
"Do you know why it took so long for you to get a seat on my ship? It's because I have the most comprehensive psychological profiles you could imagine. I have maps of all my astronaut's brains and can predict how they'll act under different situations. Every time your name came up, I'd run your profile and come back with the same answer; you didn't have the right stuff. Your reflexes, your knowledge, your skills — those were off the charts. But there was something about your character that said this was a man who was out for himself. The only reason you got your slot was because Bennet pushed for it. I told him you didn't have what it takes. Your brain was nothing like his. You weren't a hero. You were a survivor. Survivors make great test pilots, but they're not leaders of men. And now here you are, trying to steal a quarter-billion dollars of hardware from me after causing the worst disaster of my life."
"Vin… things are complicated. I can't tell you my mission."
"That's not what I'm asking. I want to know why you're the one sitting here."
"Me?"
"Yes, you, David Dixon. Why you? What happened to Prescott?Did he back out? Was he ill?"
"Wait? You know about this?"
He gives me a pitiful look. "David, nobody does anything here without me knowing. Markov said he was sending up a specialist."
"Prescott wasn't right for the mission."
"And you are?"
"I don't know. I guess I have to be."
Vin gives me his sage-like smile. "And here we are."
"Capricorn?"
"I deny everything." He winks at me then presses a button on his keyboard.
My control panel lights up again.
"I just gave you a better insertion path to the K1. Four minutes to launch. Anything I can do for you?"
I think he means if I don't make it back. "Tell my parents I love them. Um, give Laney Washburn a chance to fly. Oh, yes, some kids in Rio helped me out. I forget the name of the neighborhood in Rio. Maybe see if you can get them into a school or something?"
"I'll find them."
"Thank you."
"Have a safe trip. When this is all over you should come out to the yacht."
"Only if you promise to lend me the silver Speedos you had on at Burning Man."
64
Projectile
This launch is just as jarring as the last the one. While rockets are a thing of beauty to see take off from the ground, being inside one is a slightly different experience. You're stuck between two forces that want to crush you and shake your brain loose from your spinal cord.
There's the rocket below you, burning millions of gallons of fuel in what can be best described as a controlled explosion. Above you is the earth's atmosphere. Maybe that doesn't seem like much, but think about when you were a little kid and stuck your hand out the car window and what it felt like when the wind slapped into it. Now imagine the wind is slamming into you at 7,000 miles an hour.
What's totally different than last time is the fact that I'm not in my comfy iCosmos form-fitting couch. The chair inside the DarkStar is a few straps stretched over an aluminum frame. I'm afraid I'm going to bust through it any second like my fat aunt on a cheap lawn chair.
One time in college a few of my buddies took turns riding around inside the trunk of an old Impala. It was a dumb, dumb thing to do.
When it was my turn, Ross, my sophomore year roommate, decided to go off-roading.
That trunk was a veritable Versailles compared to the inside of the DarkStar.
I'd give anything to be back in there right now with Mad Ross at the wheel, spinning out in the dirt lot behind Target.
I watch the readout as the countdown hits Max Q — the point where the rocket reaches the maximum impact against the atmosphere.
It's not exactly smooth sailing from here, but if there's a point where this fake space capsule is going to crush like a tin can and the rocket rip itself apart from stress, I just passed it.
Don't get me wrong, lots of things can still go horribly wrong. But we just passed a critical point. The atmosphere begins to get rapidly thinner around here and the vibration settles down a little.
I still have the gurgling roar of the rocket to remind me that I'm one misplaced decimal away from oblivion.
I get ready for the kick of the second stage booster as it separates from the primary booster.
BOOM and we shoot forward like a champagne cork from a bottle.
Meanwhile, the primary booster begins its descent back to Earth where it will land on the launchpad — making me kinda wish I was riding that down right now.
I'm now entering the 60 mile-zone that people generally agree is space.
Fun fact: the first manmade object in space was a Nazi V2 rocket in 1942. Space historians and people who like to remind you how there would be no private space industry without NASA tend to gloss over how much those goose-stepping assholes contributed to rocket technology.
Now I'm about to pass the 108 mile record they set, which basically means I'm beating Hitler again.
At this altitude, if I could look out a window, I'd see stars. But I can't, because I'm inside a black bullet designed for stealth.
Six more minutes of burn on the second stage and then we have separation. That's when the real excitement begins.
Right now I'm just doing the same launch profile we've done thousands of times before. The never-been-done-before part comes when the second stage detaches and the fake-Unicorn begins its approach to the US/iCosmos.