Read Online Gabriel's Redemption by Steve Umstead - Free Book Online
Authors: Steve Umstead
Tags: Science-Fiction, Read
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vehicle, or OTV, sat on four massive sets of tires on the edge of the runway, its white fuselage gleaming in the rising sun behind its twin tails. A tumbleweed bounced its way along the edge of the ceramacrete next to the plane, making the entire scene appear straight out of an oil painting one might find in the Monterrey Museum of Modern Art. Gabriel had a few minutes before they’d be cleared to board, so he accessed his military vehicle database and pulled up the plane’s stats and history.
The Panther-class was based on NASA’s original Blackstar project back in the mid-twenty first century, a project that was mothballed due to drastic budget constraints during the South American War, and tabled permanently with the dissolution of NASA in 2062. Recently, the NAFN restarted the project, something Gabriel had heard rumors about before he left the service, and apparently this was the result.
Travolta II , it said in black letters on the nose, just below the smoked cockpit windows. Gabriel accessed a history of the name: some actor-turned-pilot-turned-senator from the early twenty-first, so it seemed. He moved on to the specs.
The spaceplane was a combination lifting-body/wing design, 190 feet long, slightly shorter than a mid-sized supersonic passenger plane, and was shaped like a squat wedge. It reminded Gabriel of an axe blade lying on its side, edge forward. Just aft of and slightly lower than the cockpit windows, the spaceplane mounted canard wings that sprouted 11 feet from the fuselage. Further towards the rear, two main delta wings, 36 feet in length each, added to the lift provided by the wedge shape. Combined with the 40-foot wide body, the wings gave it an overall span of 112 feet. Twin tails pointed skywards from either side of the blocky end, and although Gabriel could not see the rear from his angle, the database specs showed six massive 20,000 horsepower Rolls Royce ion ram/scramjets as main propulsion, able to accelerate the spaceplane to escape velocity in under three minutes, plus eight additional hydrazine jets for orbital maneuvering. All in all, as Jimenez said earlier, an absolute beast of a spaceplane.
Closing the neuretics file as the doors to the transport opened, he noticed the spaceplane was completely unmarked except for the name. No tail numbers, no registration. Obviously this entire mission was black, he said to himself.
The hot, dry New Mexico air greeted Gabriel once again as he stepped from the transport, he being the second to last out. Brevik muttered profanities as he unfolded himself from the rear seat behind him. Most I’ve heard from him since yesterday, Gabriel thought.
Unlike himself, each of the team members carried small personal items with them, he noticed. St. Laurent had a flexscreen tube and stainless steel coffee mug. Sowers had a basketball under his right arm, although Gabriel had no idea where or when he’d be able to use it. Jimenez had a shoulder bag with a guitar sticking out of it. Sabra had a hardcover (actual paper!) book, which seemed out of place for her hard disposition. Lamber had a floppy straw hat similar to those worn in Southeast Asia, along with a ten-inch long combat knife sheath (Gabriel knew it to be empty, as any and all weapons are always secured in the cargo hold for launches). Takahashi struggled carrying a duffel, zipped shut and giving no indications of its contents. Brevik had the oddest item of all - a tiny harmonica case. Gabriel shook his head at the last. On a man that large, he thought, he may as well be carrying a whistle.
Empty handed, Gabriel followed the team to the spaceplane, stirring up dust with each step. As the team stepped onto the ceramacrete, the door to the spaceplane swung open and the steps automatically unfolded, revealing Renay Gesselli standing in the hatchway.
“Oh, shit,” Gabriel heard coming from the front of the team. Sowers, it sounded like. Can’t really reprimand him for that , he thought with a wan
The Panther-class was based on NASA’s original Blackstar project back in the mid-twenty first century, a project that was mothballed due to drastic budget constraints during the South American War, and tabled permanently with the dissolution of NASA in 2062. Recently, the NAFN restarted the project, something Gabriel had heard rumors about before he left the service, and apparently this was the result.
Travolta II , it said in black letters on the nose, just below the smoked cockpit windows. Gabriel accessed a history of the name: some actor-turned-pilot-turned-senator from the early twenty-first, so it seemed. He moved on to the specs.
The spaceplane was a combination lifting-body/wing design, 190 feet long, slightly shorter than a mid-sized supersonic passenger plane, and was shaped like a squat wedge. It reminded Gabriel of an axe blade lying on its side, edge forward. Just aft of and slightly lower than the cockpit windows, the spaceplane mounted canard wings that sprouted 11 feet from the fuselage. Further towards the rear, two main delta wings, 36 feet in length each, added to the lift provided by the wedge shape. Combined with the 40-foot wide body, the wings gave it an overall span of 112 feet. Twin tails pointed skywards from either side of the blocky end, and although Gabriel could not see the rear from his angle, the database specs showed six massive 20,000 horsepower Rolls Royce ion ram/scramjets as main propulsion, able to accelerate the spaceplane to escape velocity in under three minutes, plus eight additional hydrazine jets for orbital maneuvering. All in all, as Jimenez said earlier, an absolute beast of a spaceplane.
Closing the neuretics file as the doors to the transport opened, he noticed the spaceplane was completely unmarked except for the name. No tail numbers, no registration. Obviously this entire mission was black, he said to himself.
The hot, dry New Mexico air greeted Gabriel once again as he stepped from the transport, he being the second to last out. Brevik muttered profanities as he unfolded himself from the rear seat behind him. Most I’ve heard from him since yesterday, Gabriel thought.
Unlike himself, each of the team members carried small personal items with them, he noticed. St. Laurent had a flexscreen tube and stainless steel coffee mug. Sowers had a basketball under his right arm, although Gabriel had no idea where or when he’d be able to use it. Jimenez had a shoulder bag with a guitar sticking out of it. Sabra had a hardcover (actual paper!) book, which seemed out of place for her hard disposition. Lamber had a floppy straw hat similar to those worn in Southeast Asia, along with a ten-inch long combat knife sheath (Gabriel knew it to be empty, as any and all weapons are always secured in the cargo hold for launches). Takahashi struggled carrying a duffel, zipped shut and giving no indications of its contents. Brevik had the oddest item of all - a tiny harmonica case. Gabriel shook his head at the last. On a man that large, he thought, he may as well be carrying a whistle.
Empty handed, Gabriel followed the team to the spaceplane, stirring up dust with each step. As the team stepped onto the ceramacrete, the door to the spaceplane swung open and the steps automatically unfolded, revealing Renay Gesselli standing in the hatchway.
“Oh, shit,” Gabriel heard coming from the front of the team. Sowers, it sounded like. Can’t really reprimand him for that , he thought with a wan
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