Kids were encouraged by TWA to catch the spaceliners moving across the sky at sunset; it was easy for Dave to tune into White Sands and get a complete dump of low orbital tracks. He played them across his helmet screen, cool purple against blue and green earth and black space. The Hawk’s track was a bright red. Two sections flashed warning of close approaches; he reached out for them, tapped them with his finger—120 miles appeared. FAA regs allowed for a hundred mile separation when crossing orbits. The Hawk would be OK.
“Whatever Joe was up to, he’s coming in now.” Terry’s voice echoed in Dave’s helmet. He cleared his visor; Joe was running toward them, grinning like a canary who swallowed the cat.
Mr. Montgomery looked up from his pocket computer; the screen showed he’d been checking air traffic. “What was it, Joe?”
“I goofed, Mr. Montgomery. I guess I had three extra screws. But I checked just to make sure everything was down tight. It is.”
Ms. Harrison frowned and Mr. Montgomery went back to his computer. Joe joined his friends.
“What were you up to?” Terry hissed.
“I got our pound back.” Joe pulled out the pockets of his jacket, then stuffed them back in quickly. But not so fast Dave didn’t see a detonator in one pocket, primer cord in the other. “Now we’ll make orbit for sure.” Joe crowed in a whisper.
Terry patted him on the back. “We sure will, won’t we, Dave?”
“You bet.” Like hell. “Now Joe, I got to get busy.” Dave opaqued his helmet and started talking fast to his computer.
“How bad did he louse us up?” Terry asked a second later.
“I need a half hour to reprogram all the burns.”
“We don’t have a half hour. What if we launch a pound light?”
For the briefest of seconds, Dave was grateful to Terry for not jabbing him about humans adjusting faster than computers. Then Dave’s helmet flickered and a new red line appeared. “Our apogee is way the hell too high, and we’re going to fry at perigee.”
“The first time?”
Dave worked his fingers carefully over the orbit, weaving a rope that had to support his dreams. “I think we’ll survive the first two, but I wouldn’t bet on the third.”
“We’d complete one orbit?”
“I think so.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“Hold it. I’ve got to check the traffic in the higher orbits. We’ll be five hundred miles up at apogee.”
“Dave, we’ve got to move!”
“Not and kill someone.” Dave kept his voice low enough the grown-ups wouldn’t hear him, but not so soft Terry could ignore him.
“You got two minutes.”
The high stuff was usually corporate, and they didn’t care what kids were interested in. Dave’s system accessed it; there was so much of it he shunted part of it to his dad’s processor.
His helmet clock ticked. Orbits appeared on his display and he sent searches along them. There were close approaches. One was 101 miles. Dave checked it from three different perspectives: 101 miles plus a few feet.
“Dave, we’ve got to go.”
“Give me a second. I’m almost done.”
His helmet beeped; all the orbits were plotted. A second later, he got another beep; all orbits checked out. No more close calls.
“Go for it.”
“Beginning count down. Ten. Nine.”
Dave cleared his visor. This launch he wanted to see.
“Three, two, one, ignition,” a forever pause, “lift off. She’s off,” Terry screeched.
“We did it,” Joe danced a jig as he shouted. “We did it.”
“Ten thousand feet and mission is nominal.” Terry recovered his poise and deadpanned an old movie. “Twenty thousand feet.”
“Twenty-five thousand feet.”
“Thirty thousand feet.”
“I’m getting something.” Dave tried to sound matter-of-fact, like a good test pilot. He cleared enough of his visor to check on the teachers.
Ms. Harrison shook hands with Mr. Montgomery, who turned to Terry. “Shouldn’t you be throttling back?”
“Joe, give Mr. Montgomery his stuff back,” Terry answered.
Dave darkened his visor to max and stared intently. It was hazy, but stars were starting to sharpen into points.
There was noise—in the background and on his instruments. Ms. Harrison’s “You can’t do this,” came through loud and clear, but that was Terry’s problem. He wanted to be a manager like his dad; he could practice handling people. Dave watched as the stars came out.
At first, he could only watch. The Hawk was going up and Dave only saw what it was pointed at. He checked the recorder. His main computer at home was catching it all. The net satellite acquired the Hawk as it went by. Dave quickly modified his communication program to patch into higher comsats. He attached to them smoothly, but the phone bill next month was going to be as high as the Hawk. Well, Dad said he’d help.
ENGINE SHUT DOWN flashed on Dave’s visor. The Hawk was his. He took over the gyros and started covering the sky.
“How we doing?” Terry asked when he rejoined the net.
“Perfect, I’m just starting the sky sweep. How are things?”
“Ms. Harrison stomped out of here. She wants to see us in her office first thing tomorrow morning.”
“How’s Monty taking it?”
“Better than I thought. He left with her, but he’s got to be there with us tomorrow.”
“Then we better make this count.”
The stars were out. The recorder was on. For the rest of his life, he would have this program to play on his Virtual Reality. Today he didn’t want to miss a second.
The Big Bang’s background was why they were here, and Dave had a couple of automated programs to hunt for the tiny fluctuations in the microwave background that meant so much to the grown-ups. He checked one; the incoming data was red, historical data yellow. Most of the sky was orange—but not all. Dave zoomed in on a tiny red fringe. It reminded him of wind blown wisps of clouds at sunset. Interesting. But that could wait. Dave was here for the stars.
He found one, not a point like the others. This one had wings, jets of gas shooting out from its core in both directions. Here was a young star; a kid like himself who didn’t know better than to do dumb things.
Dave reached out, touched the teenage star. Letters and numbers appeared next to his glove, telling him things grown-ups had discovered about his star. They’d found out facts. He’d found a friend.
The search program rotated the Hawk; there was a lot of sky to cover. Dave found another young star to touch. Every part of the sky they surveyed had new stars in it. It made Dave feel right at home, friends wherever he looked.
Two hours later, Dave surfaced when the background got hazy. “What’s happening?” He asked, not expecting any answer.
“I think we’re burning up on reentry.” Terry replied.
For a moment, Dave could feel the heat, and he wanted to cry, for the Hawk, and for his new friends, now locked away above the sky. Dave might have sat down and bawled, but Terry and Joe were there.
Nobody said much as they packed everything into the truck. Joe’s dad was finishing up a six-pack. He let Joe drive them home.
“What you boys did was foolish. It was dangerous, and it was against the law.” Ms. Harrison waved a hand full of faxes. “I’ve had letters of complaint from half a dozen agencies, some of them international. You came within fifty miles of a JAL flight. What did you think you were doing?”