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

motor.
                 “Looking
good,” she said as the speed built quickly.
                 “Aye,
Captain,” Richera said, giving his best impression of
Scotty, the engineering officer on the Starship Enterprise, “the dilithium crystals are shining bright.”
                 “ Har-har ,” said Breanna, whose leg began acting up again.
                 They
touched Mach 5, but then began to slow inexplicably.
                 “Problem?”
asked Fichera .
                 “Not
sure,” said Breanna. The thrust on all three engines was steady, yet according
to the instruments she was slowing.
                 Now
if she’d been in the plane, she would have known exactly what the problem was.
She’d felt it.
                 Really?
Could you feel the difference at eighty-some-thousand feet and four or five
times the speed of sound, with things rushing by? Or would you have to rely on
the instruments anyway? How far would you be removed from the actual sensation
of flight, lying in a specially canted seat wrapped in a special high-G suit?
                 Breanna
pushed forward. Unencumbered by restraints or even a simple seat belt, she put
her face nearly on the large glass panel as she had the computer run her
through the vital signs on all the power plants. The speed had leveled off at
Mach 4.3. They had reached the end of test sequence.
                 “Computer,
cut engine five,” she said, referring to the hydro.
                 “Cut
engine five.”
                 “I
feel like I should be pushing buttons at least,” added Bree.
                 “Repeat
command,” said the computer.
                 “I
thought it wasn’t suppose to try to interpret anything without the word
‘computer’ in front of it,” Bree backed at Fichera .
                 “The
computer expects you to either follow the original flight plan called for, or
prepare a new course. Since you’re doing neither, it is confused.”
                 The
snotty voice belonged to Ray Rubeo, Dreamland’s head scientist.
                 “Hey,
Ray,” she retorted, “I didn’t realize you were sitting in.”
                 “I
wasn’t,” said Rubeo.
                 “We
can adjust that if it’s annoying,” said Fichera . “Can
we proceed with the rest of the tests?”
                 “Roger
that,” said Breanna, belatedly nosing the plane onto the planned course for a
second battery of telemetry downloads.
                 They
worked through the rest of the morning’s agenda without incident. Running ahead
of schedule, Breanna suggested a few touch-and-go’s to practice landing
technique.
                 “If
that’s okay with you, Ray,” she added.
                 “Dr.
Rubeo has left,” said Fichera .
                 “Yeah,
I thought you guys sounded more relaxed.”
                 “You
shouldn’t have called him Ray,” said Fichera . “He
looked like he swallowed a lemon.”
                 “Oh,
if I really wanted to tick him off I’d’ve called him
Doctor Ray,” said Breanna.
                 There
was no arguing Rubeo was a genius, though his social skills needed considerable
work. He was especially prickly concerning the B-5 project, not only because he
had personally done so much of the work on the computers, but because it had
been conceived as an entirely computer-flown aircraft. Rubeo’s contention that its tests be controlled by scientists using simple verbal
commands had been overruled by Colonel Bastian.
                 “Standby,
Dreamland B-5,” said the airfield flight controller as Bree lined up for her
first approach. “We have a VIP arrival via Runway One.”
                 Ordinarily,
non-Dreamland aircraft, even those