Piranha

For the next hour he treaded slowly, faceup in the brine, cold and salt sandpapering his lips and nose. Then, suddenly, the water began to churn. He felt it coming for him now, the shark, drawn by his fatigue like a radio beacon in the night. It broke water fifty yards to his right, a massive thing of blackness.

Stoner waited. He had no weapon.

There was a sound behind him, an eerie cry not unlike the death rattle of a man at the end.

“Here!” Stoner yelled. “Here!”

A Seachlight played across the surface of the water. Two SEALs in diving gear paddled a rubber boat toward him.

“Here!” he yelled again.

“Mr. Stoner?” said one of the men.

“You’re not expecting someone else, I hope,” said Stoner as the raft crept up. His muscles were so stiff he had to be helped into the boat. But he managed to climb onto the deck of the waiting submarine and go below without further assistance.

“Stoner, I’m Captain Waldum,” said the skipper. “Glad we found you. Your signal’s getting weak.”

“Yeah,” said Stoner. “Let’s retrieve the bow pod from my boat and get back. About a dozen people are trying to have their underwater in knots about now.”

Chapter 2

An excellent coffin

Dreamland

August 21, 1997, 0700 local

Captain Brea

Captain Stockard was surrounded by four large panels, one in front, one overhead, and one on each side. Constructed of a plasma “Film,” each panel provided, at her command, a full instrument suite, optical view from all four compass points, or synthesized views composed from radar or infrared sensors. The stick at the side of her seat and the pedals at her feet did not actually move, instead sensing the pressure exerted on them and translating it as commands to the flight computer that took care of the actual details involved in trimming the large craft. The throttle was the closest to a “normal” airplane control in the cockpit—assuming, of course, such a control could select a standard turbofan, a scramjet, and a restartable rocket motor or some combination of all three depending on the flight regime. All of the controls could be discarded if Brea

That, Brea

This tedious process added considerably to the pilot’s consternation as she waited for clearance to begin her test flight.

Known as the UMB—Unma

Assuming taking ten Gs could be called conventional.

“Ground is clear. How are we looking, Captain?” asked Sam Fichera, who led the team developing the controls and was today’s mission boss.

“I think we’re ready to rock,” Bree answered.

“Ready for an engine start. Everything by the book.”

“Ready when you are.” Brea

“Computer. Takeoff engine start,” acknowledged the electronic copilot.

The two GE-built turbofans used for takeoff and low speed flight regimes whipped to life. A detailed checklist appeared at the right side of Brea