Piranha by Jim DeFelice, Dale Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

“Negative.
I doubt it’s really seventy-two, by the way. All right, I should be at angels
twenty in one more turn.”
                 “We
copy that,” answered the engineer.
                 Both
the climb and the cramps continued in silence. Though much larger at about 170
feet in length, the aircraft handled a lot like an F-111 to about Mach 1.5 if
the F-111 was being flown remote control.
                 “You’re
looking really great,” said Fichera as the UMB hit
into the orbit over Glass Mountain just a nudge under 25,000 feet.
                 “Looks
good from here,” said McCourt from the chase plane. He was flying off her right
wing, separated by about a half mile in the open sky.
                 “All
right. Telemetry test ready?” Bree asked.
                 “Roger
that,” said Fichera .
                 “Computer,
begin scheduled test B-5-6A: photographic data flow. Smile for the cameras,
Dreamland.”
                 “Begin
scheduled test B-5-6A,” acknowledged the computer.
                 A
panel in the fuselage slid open, permitting a camera array from a mini-KH
satellite to see the earth. The camera sent a rapid succession of detailed
photos back to Dreamland.
                 “Hey,
Major, this stuff going to show up in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition?”
asked McCourt.
                 “Hell,
Art, we’re going straight to Playgirl. The photos I took of your in the shower
last week with the spy cam cinched it.”
                 “I
thought I felt a draft.”
                 “Data
flow under way,” said Breanna, her tone once again serious. The test was a
fairly simple affair, sending back high-resolution optical photos to the ground.
As the system was essentially the same used in Dreamland’s mini-KH-12 tactical
satellites, it should pass without much difficulty.
                 Which
it did. Breanna continued a long, lazy orbit around the Dreamland test ranges,
slowly building her altitude until she was at 35,000 feet. The next series of
tests were the meat of the day’s mission.
                 “Ready
to test engine five,” Breanna told her team. Engine five was the restartable rocket motor.
                 “Roger
that,” said Fichera . “We’re hot to start.”
                 “Three-second
burn programmed,” she said, reading off the program screen. “Counting down.”
                 There
was a slight hitch as the rocket ignited; the plane’s nose stuttered downward
for a microsecond before the massive increase in thrust translated into upward
momentum. This was a by-product of a glitch in the trimming program, which the
team was still trying to fine-tune. Otherwise, the burn and plane worked
perfectly; Breanna rode the B-5 up through fifty thousand feet. A soft tone in
her helmet accompanied the visual cue that they had reached their intended
altitude; she leveled off, then started a gentle bank. At the end of a complete
circuit she nosed down, gathering momentum. As the plane hit Mach 2, she
prepared for the next test sequence.
                 “Ready
to test engines three and four,” she said, referring to the scramjets.
“Counting down.”
                 The
hydrogen-fueled scramjets lit as the plane touched Mach 2.3. By the end of the
test sequence, Breanna was at Mach 3.4 and had climbed through 85,000 feet. She
continued to climb, powered now only by the scramjets.
                 “Ready
for engine five,” she told her team, leveling off for the next test sequence.
                 “Good.
Temp in four slightly high.”
                 “Acknowledged.”
She took q quick glance at the screen, making sure the temp was still in the
green—it was by
                 about
five degrees—then told the computer to light the rocket