Americans. No more humiliating episodes like that in 1976 when the
traitorous Lieutenant Viktor Belenko defected with a MiG 25 Foxbat,
exposing all its secret electronics to the West.
Friday 10:16 A.M.
A slam of acceleration hit him, and he felt a circle of black close in
on his vision. It was the darkness of eternal night, the music of the
spheres. His last sight was the airspeed indicator scrolling past Mach
6.1. Almost four thousand miles per hour.
The starship _Daedalus _had just gone hypersonic.
He didn't see it, but look-down radar had shown the two Acrid AA-9s
exploding a thousand feet below. When the scramjets powered in, the
infrared-homing AAM lost its lock on them and detonated the other
missile, sending a supersonic shock wave through _Daedalus_. AAMs, how-
ever, were now the least of their problems.
Skin temperature was pushing 2,200 degrees and the cockpit was becoming
an incinerator. At forty-eight thousand feet they were rapidly turning
into a meteorite.
His vision was gone, but just before losing consciousness he shoved the
hydrogen throttles all the way forward and yanked back on the
sidestick, sending them straight up into the freezing black above.
Friday 10:19 A.M.
_Altitude seventy-three thousand feet. Airspeed nine thousand knots."
_"Petra, raise helmet." He was slowly regaining his sight as the G-
loads began to recede. The cockpit was an oven, overwhelming its
environmental control equipment, clear evidence vehicle skin
temperature had exceeded design.
_"Confirmed. Helmet raising."
_Although his vision was still black and white, he started easing back
on the throttles and checking around the cock
pit. Eva was beginning to stir now, rising and struggling with her
safety straps, Androv remained slumped in his G-seat.
"You okay?" He rose and moved toward her. "I think I blacked out there
for a second or so."
"I'm going to make it." She shifted her eyes right. "But I'm not so
sure about . . ."
"Don't worry." The Russian snapped conscious and immediately reached to
begin loosening his straps. "I've been through heavy G-loads before."
Suddenly he stared up at the screens, pointed, and yelled. "Hypersonic!
_Zoloto_! You didn't tell me. I almost can't believe--"
"We almost lost it. Skin temperatures reached--"
"Japanese ceramic composites, my _droog_. No other material could have
done it. And now the atmosphere is thinning. When we hit eighty
thousand feet, or maybe eighty-five, skin temperature should stabilize
down around a thousand degrees. That's 'room temperature' for this
vehicle." He paused and grinned. "Liquid hydrogen. It's a fantastic
fuel, and a terrific coolant. Of course, if this catches on and we stop
using alcohol coolant in our MiGs, I don't know what the Soviet Air
Force will all drink before payday."
Vance glanced at their vector. They were over the Bering Sea now, with
a heading for who knew where.
Mach 11.3 and climbing. The Daedalus was pressing effortlessly toward
the darkness above. Time to think about what was next.
"How much of this wonderful liquid hydrogen do we have?"
"Just enough to do what I've been planning for a long time." He edged
over and touched Vance's shoulder. "I'm deeply in your debt. You made
it possible. Now there's only one thing left. The ultimate!"
Vance looked at him and realized immediately what he meant. Why not!
"Do we have enough oxygen?"
"Extra cannisters were loaded because of the two Mino Industries
pilots. I think we have about ten hours."
"Then I vote we give it a shot," he said, turning to Eva. "What do you
think?"
"What are you talking about?"
He flipped up his helmet visor. "If we can achieve Mach 25 by around a
hundred thousand feet, we can literally insert into orbit. It'd cause a
diplomatic flap the size of World War Three."