"Never handled anything bigger than a Lear," Vance replied. "And then
only as copilot."
It didn't seem to matter. Androv glanced at the open door of the
Personnel Module and motioned to them.
"Then come on. Let's hurry." Now he was searching the hangar. Finally
he spotted the man he wanted.
"Pavel," he yelled in Russian, "have the starter trolleys been engaged
yet?"
"_Da_," came the reply.
"Then prepare _Daedalus I _for power-up and get the hell out. We're go
for rpm."
"What do you mean? The tow trucks haven't even been--"
"Forget the tow trucks. It's going to be afterburners, right here. Get
the rest of your people in the clear."
Afterburners were rings of nozzles that sprayed fuel into the
superheated exhaust gases of a jet engine, creating a burst of power.
In military aircraft they were used to produce surges in thrust during
takeoff and dogfights.
"Afterburners! In the hangar. Yuri, all the hydrogen storage tanks
could blow. You'd destroy_ Daedalus II_. Just incinerate it."
"That's the idea." He was already mounting the steps of the Personnel
Module, not looking back. "There's only going to be one plane left. The
one I take."
"The computer." Eva had started up the steps, but then she froze and
turned back, handing Vance the Uzi. "I have to get it."
"There's no time." He reached for the weapon, its muzzle still hot.
"We've got--"
"Michael, I didn't come this far just to let the protocol slip through
our fingers." She was running past him now, back down. "Only take a
second."
He knew it was pointless to argue. And besides, maybe she was right.
Who knew where they'd end up?
Now Androv had faltered and was leaning shakily against the open
doorway of the module, the right sleeve of his pressure suit covered in
blood. Vance took advantage of the ticking moments to step up and
examine it.
"You need a bandage." He started tearing away the synthetic cloth. "Or
better yet, a tourniquet."
"No." Androv glanced at his arm and grimaced. "There's not--"
"You're going on adrenaline right now, my friend. But when the shock
wears off . . ." He looked around the interior of the module, but there
was nothing to cut with, so he just ripped away a large portion of
Androv's sleeve and parted the material. A savage furrow was sliced
across his bicep.
"I don't want you to pass out." He tore a section of the sleeve into a
strip and then, struggling with his heavy gloves, began binding it
above the wound. The hangar was still bedlam, people running and
yelling on every side, alarms sounding. As he was finishing the
tourniquet, Eva came bounding up the metal steps carrying her Zenith.
They were ready.
Androv quickly secured the door and activated the controls. Through a
smoke-smeared window they watched the bloody hangar floor disappear
into the haze. The world suddenly turned dreamlike, an unreality
highlighted by the soft whoosh of the pneumatic lift beneath them. Then
the module lurched to a halt.
Vance led the way through the open hatch. "Looks like somebody forgot
and left the lights on."
"Pavel told me the starter trolleys were engaged," Androv said in
Russian as he climbed through, then stepped down. He continued in
English. "Petra can initiate power-up."
"Petra?" Vance turned back. "You mean the--"
"Our copilot." He pointed toward a large liquid crystal screen at the
far end of the cabin, now blank. "I want to try and use her to override
Flight Control for the rest of the sequence."
"Short circuit the countdown?"
"I've never done it, but . . ." He walked over and reached down to flip
a square blue switch on the right-hand console. "Let's see if she's
awake this morning."
He glanced up as the screen blinked on and a large black-and-white
double-ax logo materialized, set against the red and white of a
Japanese flag. Next he pushed a button on the sidestick and spoke.
"Petra, report countdown status."
"_All preflight sequences nominal." _The eerie, mechanical sound of a
woman's voice, speaking Russian, filled the space. "_Do you
acknowledge?_"
"Affirmative," he answered back. "You will now initiate ignition
sequence. Bypass remaining countdown procedure."
"_That is an override command. Please give authorization code."_
"Code P-18. Systems emergency."
"_The countdown is now T minus nineteen minutes twenty-eight seconds.
All systems are nominal. Therefore Code P-18 is not a valid command."_
"Shit," he whispered under his breath. "Petra, verify P-18 with Flight
Control." He paused for a split second, then pushed a button on the
console and commanded, "Abort instruction." Another pause, then,
"Repeat verify abort command for N equals one over zero."
"What was that?" Eva was wedging her laptop under the left-hand G-seat.
"I think, I hope I just put her command-monitor function into an
infinite loop. She'll just continuously start and stop the verification
procedure. Maybe it'll render that subroutine incapable of blocking the
other system functions."
"You're going to confuse her head? Good luck."
He settled himself in the central seat, then reached up and began
unlatching the huge flight helmet. As he did, his eyes were suddenly
flooded with grief.
"They killed him." He paused for a moment and just stared. Vance
thought he'd finally become befuddled from the shock. But then he
choked back his emotion and continued. "We're going on the deck. Under
their goddam radar."
"What did you say?" Vance strained to catch his words. The English was
slurred.
He seemed to grow faint, his consciousness wane, but he finally revived
as he finished yanking the giant helmet down over his head.
Vance's headphones came alive as he heard the Russian. "_Daedalus I_ to
Control. Do you read? I am now bringing up core rpm for starboard
cluster, outboard trident." A second later, he continued, "We have S-O
ignition."
"Yuri," came a startled radio voice, "what in hell is going on! You
can't--"
"Portside cluster, outboard. Rpm up," he continued in Russian, his
voice halting. "We have P-O ignition."
"Yuri, you can't--?"
"Starboard cluster, inboard. Bringing up. Portside cluster, inboard--"
"Androv, for godsake, have you gone mad?"
"Sergei, I told them to clear the hangar. I'm taking her to full
power."
"The liquid hydrogen tanks are in there. You could blow the whole
hangar to hell if you use afterburners. You must be crazy!"
"The bastards gunned him down, Sergei." He caught a sob. "It was my
fault. I should have warned--"
"What are you talking about? Gunned who down?"
But Yuri Androv's mind was already elsewhere, drifting into a grief-
obsessed dream state.
"Engine start complete," he continued. "Beginning pre-takeoff
sequence."
Will he be able to get this thing off the ground? Vance was wondering.
He's shot up and now he's falling apart.
Guess we're about to find out. The fuselage cameras are showing an
empty hangar. Everybody's run for cover.
"Eva, want to take that seat? I'll take this one. No free drinks in
this forward cabin section." He was speaking through his upraised
helmet visor as he eased himself into the right-hand G-seat.
"And buckle up for safety." She settled herself in the left. "Let's
just hope he can still manage this monster. It's a Saturn V with
wings."
"He's got his talking computer, if she'll still cooperate. Do me a
favor and translate now and then."
"Machines are supposed to translate for people, not the other way
around. We're in space warp."
"I believe it."
As he pulled down the overhead seat straps, he found himself wondering
what _Daedalus _would feel like in full afterburner mode. Those
turboramjets made a Boeing 747's massive JT-9Ds look like prime movers
for a medium-sized lawnmower.
"Power to military thrust." Androv was easing forward the twin
throttles, spooling them up past three-quarters power. _Daedalus _had
begun to quiver, shaking like a mighty mountain in tectonic upheaval.
"Prepare for brake release."
The screens on the wall above reported fuel consumption edging toward
three hundred pounds of JP-7 a second.
"Yuri," the radio crackled, "don't--"
"Pavel's got his men out of the hangar, Sergei. I can see on my screen.
I'm going cold mike now. No distractions. Just wish me luck."
There was a click as he switched off the communications in his helmet.
He missed a new radio voice by only a second. It was speaking in
English.
"Dr. Vance, what is going on? He's just cut his radio link with Flight
Control. He's deranged. I order you to halt the flight sequence. He
could destroy both planes by going to afterburners in the hangar. I
demand this be stopped."
Vance glanced up at the TV monitors. An auxiliary screen showed Tanzan
Mino standing at the main Flight Control console, surrounded by more_
kobun_, who had muscled aside the Russian technicians. He also noticed
that a lot of Soviet brass were there too.
"Looks like you've got a problem."
"I'm warning you I will shut you down. I can activate the automatic AI
override three minutes after takeoff. The plane will return and land
automatically."
"Three minutes is a long time." Vance wondered if it was true, or a
bluff. "We'll take our chances."
"You'd leave me no choice."
"May the best man win."
"Petra, brake release." Yuri Androv's voice sounded from beneath his
helmet.
_"Acknowledged_."
Vance looked across to see his left hand signal a thumbs-up sign, then
reach down for the throttle quadrant. The vehicle was already rolling
through the wide doors of the hangar, so if there were an explosion
now, at least they'd be in the clear.
Androv paused a second, mumbled something in Russian, then shoved the
heavy handles forward to Lock, commanding all twelve engines to max
afterburner. The JP-7 fuel reading whirled from a feed of three hundred
pounds a second to twenty-one hundred, and an instant thereafter the
cockpit was slammed by the hammer of God as the monitor image of the
hangar dissolved in orange.