Read Online Brown, Dale - Independent 01 by Silver Tower (v1.1) - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Silver Tower (v1.1)
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control.
“Control,
this is Challenger. Max Q. Main engines moving to one hundred percent ”
“Copy that, Challenger. Max Q. Max Q. Max Q.
..
A blinding flash of light, a sensation of
warmth, a feeling of weightlessness. ... “Max Q., max Q.. .
Ann was suddenly awake, waves of pain
lancing through her abdomen. The rumpled sheets felt like damp mummy’s shrouds,
strangling her. She fought back the pain and kicked the sheets free.
“A damned
nightmare,” she said half-aloud, her breath coming in gasps. After months of
briefings, simulators, studying, she had finally had a Challenger nightmare.
Exhausted,
drained, she rolled across the bed and glanced at her watch on the nightstand. Two a.m. That made the eighth time in five hours
she had been forced awake by butterflies invading her stomach and her dreams. Butterflies? Those things were dive-bombers, nuclear
explosions, earthquakes. Forget it, sleep was impossible.
They had
warned her about Challenger nightmares, everyone from mission commanders to local food-service
people—nearly everyone even remotely involved with the rejuvenated space
shuttle program seemed to get one. But she figured it was even worse for her...
a civilian mission specialist with very little flight-deck training. Well, even
though she had two hours until her alarm would go off, she crawled out of bed
and into the bathroom. Trying to sleep would only prolong the punishment.
Feeling as
drained as if she had run a marathon, Ann stripped off her nightshirt and
panties and stood in front of the mirror in the glare of the bathroom’s single
light bulb. Her doomed attempts to wrestle a few hours sleep had left her, she
noted, with light brown circles under her dark green eyes.... “Too bad they
don’t wear helmets in space any more, at least the visor would hide this,” she
told the unappetizing mirror image. In fact, little she saw in a mirror ever
pleased her. People said she was always her worst critic, but still.... She
frowned at the too-round green eyes, the straight auburn hair, the unremarkable
breasts, the too-skinny legs.. .although the ankles were good. (But great
ankles never got a girl a date.) All right, she wasn’t bad, but nothing to
write home about either. A seven. Maybe a seven and a half...?
Besides, a
body was not something to show off—it had always been something to work on, to
operate. She had exercised hard all through high school and college, not
because it was the thing to do but because she wanted to excel at one
thing—running. She had trained her body to perform well in track and field
events, not to win beauty contests. She even had a few trophies on display at
her parent’s house. The results of her efforts were a healthy if less than
spectacular body, a daily running habit—and dates too few and far between. Who
was it who said you couldn’t be too thin or too rich? Half-right, whoever it
was....
She
unwrapped clear plastic from a drinking glass, filled it with lukewarm tap
water and took a sip. She could feel the liquid go down, then seem to solidify
in an acid lump in her throat. Wouldn’t go down and it wouldn’t come up. Great
way to start the day. Strange, she hadn’t thought about high school or college
or her social life in months. Even the shuttle pilot who’d popped into her
dream had been a long-forgotten high school boyfriend. On a day like today
she’d better be thinking of something else.
She took
her time after her shower, drying herself and combing her long red hair, and
still found herself with an hour to go before her planned wake-up time—two
whole hours before her taxi was due.
She dressed
in thin cotton long underwear, cotton gym socks, and her
“Control,
this is Challenger. Max Q. Main engines moving to one hundred percent ”
“Copy that, Challenger. Max Q. Max Q. Max Q.
..
A blinding flash of light, a sensation of
warmth, a feeling of weightlessness. ... “Max Q., max Q.. .
Ann was suddenly awake, waves of pain
lancing through her abdomen. The rumpled sheets felt like damp mummy’s shrouds,
strangling her. She fought back the pain and kicked the sheets free.
“A damned
nightmare,” she said half-aloud, her breath coming in gasps. After months of
briefings, simulators, studying, she had finally had a Challenger nightmare.
Exhausted,
drained, she rolled across the bed and glanced at her watch on the nightstand. Two a.m. That made the eighth time in five hours
she had been forced awake by butterflies invading her stomach and her dreams. Butterflies? Those things were dive-bombers, nuclear
explosions, earthquakes. Forget it, sleep was impossible.
They had
warned her about Challenger nightmares, everyone from mission commanders to local food-service
people—nearly everyone even remotely involved with the rejuvenated space
shuttle program seemed to get one. But she figured it was even worse for her...
a civilian mission specialist with very little flight-deck training. Well, even
though she had two hours until her alarm would go off, she crawled out of bed
and into the bathroom. Trying to sleep would only prolong the punishment.
Feeling as
drained as if she had run a marathon, Ann stripped off her nightshirt and
panties and stood in front of the mirror in the glare of the bathroom’s single
light bulb. Her doomed attempts to wrestle a few hours sleep had left her, she
noted, with light brown circles under her dark green eyes.... “Too bad they
don’t wear helmets in space any more, at least the visor would hide this,” she
told the unappetizing mirror image. In fact, little she saw in a mirror ever
pleased her. People said she was always her worst critic, but still.... She
frowned at the too-round green eyes, the straight auburn hair, the unremarkable
breasts, the too-skinny legs.. .although the ankles were good. (But great
ankles never got a girl a date.) All right, she wasn’t bad, but nothing to
write home about either. A seven. Maybe a seven and a half...?
Besides, a
body was not something to show off—it had always been something to work on, to
operate. She had exercised hard all through high school and college, not
because it was the thing to do but because she wanted to excel at one
thing—running. She had trained her body to perform well in track and field
events, not to win beauty contests. She even had a few trophies on display at
her parent’s house. The results of her efforts were a healthy if less than
spectacular body, a daily running habit—and dates too few and far between. Who
was it who said you couldn’t be too thin or too rich? Half-right, whoever it
was....
She
unwrapped clear plastic from a drinking glass, filled it with lukewarm tap
water and took a sip. She could feel the liquid go down, then seem to solidify
in an acid lump in her throat. Wouldn’t go down and it wouldn’t come up. Great
way to start the day. Strange, she hadn’t thought about high school or college
or her social life in months. Even the shuttle pilot who’d popped into her
dream had been a long-forgotten high school boyfriend. On a day like today
she’d better be thinking of something else.
She took
her time after her shower, drying herself and combing her long red hair, and
still found herself with an hour to go before her planned wake-up time—two
whole hours before her taxi was due.
She dressed
in thin cotton long underwear, cotton gym socks, and her
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