It was my first time in command of an
Auxiliary Craft Mission.
My nose was burning from the oxygen
feed as the Payload Officer finished strapping us in. In the forward
capsule, half a dozen Espos were already locked and loaded. I sat
between our pilot to the left and our flight engineer to the right.
The hard foam of the acceleration couch was of little comfort and was
going to become less so in a few moments.
The PLO sketched a salute and floated
back out the hatch. The heavy door sealed up with a puff of
increased pressure that made me have to pop my ears. Next to me Egg
- still what? Only fifteen? - was figeting with his straps and Oxy
hose. I sat next to him on his first trip into orbit on a real
rocket. Am I sitting next to him on his last?
I shook my head. There was no time
for that kind of thinking; the countdown was beginning. The whole
rocket shook and a deep hollow clang sounded and the docking ring
uncoupled. I sounded off through the Go/No Go check list without
really thinking about it. All around me, keys were pushed, switches
were flipped, and we reached the end of the countdown.
The Patrol Boat we were leaving was
massive, heavily armed and and armored and could boost to Moon and
back without running out of fuel. But for all of its power, it only
boosts at a half g acceleration. The Cygnus rocket was tiny,
had half the Delta V of the
PL and was unarmed. But it could pull three gs
at full burn and when when the countdown reached zero that's exactly
what it did.
Feeling
my body crushed into the couch as we boosted into open space, the rocket
kind of reminded me of the Espos we were hauling. It moved with a
sense of goddam urgency.
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