“Whatever you say, Boomer,” Sondra replied, the dejection in her voice obvious.
The high-speed instrument approaches simulated an approach in the Black Stallion or Midnight spaceplanes. The MiG-25 was an important step for aspiring spaceplane pilots, because it was the only aircraft that could simulate for brief periods the extremely high G-loads imposed on pilots during their ascent. G-loads of up to nine times the normal force of gravity could be generated in Sky Masters Aerospace’s centrifuge on the ground, but the MiG-25 was a better platform because the pilot had to fly the aircraft while being subjected to the G-forces. Sondra executed the instrument approaches with typical precision, and the landing was dead on the numbers.
They parked the big jet, went to the life-support shop to turn in the space suits and electronic G-suits, debriefed the maintenance technicians, got a quick check by a doctor, then went back to the classroom to talk about the flight. Sondra wore a blue flight suit, tailored to accentuate her curves, and in her flying boots she stood even taller. She shook her straight blond hair loose as she poured herself a cup of coffee; Boomer, in an Air Force–style olive-drab flight suit, already had his bottle of ice-cold water.
“Preflight, takeoff, departure, approaches, landing, and postflight all good,” Boomer said, referring to a notepad. “Talk to me about the climb-out.”
“I was fine—I think I just pulled out too soon,” Sondra said. “You always say, it’s better to break off a high-G run earlier than later. I might’ve gotten a little antsy. I was fine.”
“You didn’t answer up when I called.”
“I heard you just fine, Boomer,” Sondra said. “I had my hands full. The last thing I wanted to do was get myself into a compressor stall or spin.” Boomer looked at Sondra, who had looked away as she sipped her coffee, and decided to accept her response. The rest of the debriefing did not take long. They reviewed the next day’s classroom and flight training objectives, then Sondra got on the phone to check messages, and Boomer went to his office to catch up on messages and paperwork and check in on the many laboratories and design offices that he supervised.
The afternoon began with a company operations executive staff meeting, which Boomer just barely tolerated, but it was was part of his new job as head of aerospace operations. The meeting was chaired by the company’s new vice president of operations, Jason Richter, a retired lieutenant colonel and robotics engineer from the U.S. Army, who was hired to replace the late Patrick McLanahan. Jason was tall, trim, and athletic, with dark good looks. He had been hired by Sky Masters Aerospace for his engineering background, especially in the realm of robotics, but it turned out he was equally adept in management, so he was promoted to lead research and development at the company. Although he was more at home in a laboratory or design facility, he enjoyed the power and prestige of overseeing such a large number of some of the world’s best and brightest minds.
“Let’s get started,” Richter said, starting the meeting precisely at one o’clock, as always. “Let’s start with the Aerospace Division. Hunter, congratulations on successfully bringing the president to Armstrong Space Station and back safely. Quite an accomplishment.” The others in the room gave Boomer a round of light applause—Hunter “Boomer” Noble was considered an eccentric character in the company’s executive boardroom, not a serious one, and was therefore lightly tolerated. “The president apparently is not suffering any ill effects. Observations?”
“The guy did fantastic,” Boomer said, silently acknowledging the positive feedback from his board-member colleagues but also noting the negative reactions. “He stayed calm and cool the entire flight. I was not too surprised when he agreed to do the docking, but I couldn’t believe it when he wanted to do the spacewalk to the airlock. He acted as if he’d been in astronaut training for years. That kind of courage is extraordinary.”