Acid Sky

by Mark Anson

  She put her rank insignia back into their small box and placed it by her bedside, and slipped into bed. She lay there for a while after turning off the light, thinking about the day. The ship moved gently beneath her, disturbed by some eddy in the deep clouds. It was a comforting feeling, and she closed her eyes, listening to the distant roar of the engines.

  Outside, the Langley raced through the featureless dark outside, its giant intakes gulping in huge quantities of cloud-laden air, compressing and cooling it, extracting the thin mists of chemicals from the sky. The engineering crew, at the rear of the ship, kept an eye on the adsorber columns as they did their silent work, trapping the faint traces of water and acid vapour, and the fuel and liquid oxygen tanks filled slowly with their cold and bubbling liquids.

  In the main control room, at the very front of the Langley, the duty commander leaned over the radar display, scanning the skies for any sign of trouble, and spoke occasionally to the two other carriers, hundreds of kilometres away in the Venusian night. He glanced at the orbital situation display, and watched the thin turquoise lines of the tugs in their orbits high above the planet. One line arced in from deep space; another flight from Earth was moving into orbit, and the tumbling figures on the display showed its distance and velocity falling as its long journey came to an end.

  Underneath the flight deck, in the pressurised hangar, the maintenance team worked on the spaceplane, readying it for its return flight. They had removed one of the engines for its scheduled service check, and were lowering it into a carrying frame. The maintenance chief glanced up at the sleek body of the spaceplane above him, its outspread wings almost filling the hangar.

  In the main galley, amidst the clattering of pans and shouting of a busy kitchen, they were making bread rolls for tomorrow morning. A gust of heat came out of the bread oven as the door opened and the first tray went in, then the door slammed shut.

  Outside, the Langley roared on through the night, its navigation lights glowing like embers in the clouds.

  Clare slept.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dawn over the second planet from the Sun.

  Clare looked out over the wastes of cloud to the western horizon, where the sky lightened from black to a deep blue. Mercury was a brilliant star in the west, climbing up the sky in its futile attempt to outrun the Sun. Overhead, the night sky still sparkled with the brightest stars, but they were fading one by one, as the light crept upwards on the edge of the world. The tops of the upper cloud deck were silhouetted against the growing light on the horizon, but the world around the flying carrier was dark.

  She stood in the flight operations centre, at the top of the air control tower, ten metres above the flight deck. The Langley was rising up out of the clouds after its night-time air mining operations. So far, only the control tower protruded, racing through the clouds like the tailfin of some vast animal. The streamlined fairing of the landing radar was next to emerge, turning in the darkness as it scanned the sky. Then, all around her, the huge area of the carrier surfaced through the cloud deck.

  From this high vantage point, the enormous size of the Langley could truly be appreciated. Clare watched, transfixed, as the flight deck emerged, three hundred metres long, outlined in in a blaze of yellow lights down the edges, and white down the centreline. Then the wings, nearly two hundred metres across, marked out by red and green navigation lights at the wingtips, and with a smaller set of canard wings at the front. Finally, the large ventral fins and rudders, built on the underside to keep the deck area clear, burst free of the clouds, and the Langley climbed into the deep blue of the dawn sky.

  In the centre of the flight deck, the spaceplane that had brought them here the day before rose slowly into view on the elevator, illuminated from below by the lines of deck lighting. Its giant fuel tanks were filled to their maximum capacity for the long climb to orbit, and held over 150 tonnes of cryogenic propellants, kept liquid under intense cold. A heavy-duty cable snaked up into a port in the belly of the spaceplane, keeping the craft supplied with power until it started its engines. As the elevator reached the deck surface, twenty-four giant steel pins, forced into place by hydraulic pressure, locked the elevator into position and took the load off the lifting rams.

  Inside the control tower, the only light came from the various displays that showed the Langley’s attitude and position, the weather all round, and the trim of the huge craft. Another display showed the orbital situation of the space tugs circling high above the planet, and the curving line of the ascent trajectory that the spaceplane would take on its climb up to the Indianapolis, where it would transfer its passengers to the tug for their return journey to Earth.

  Besides Clare, there were only five other people in the flight operations centre: the tower controller, three crewmembers manning various consoles, and Shaffer, the flight operations officer, who stood towards the front windows, watching the deck through binoculars. Clare was a little way back, by one of the side windows. The dark blue flight overalls that she was dressed in were a long way from the formality of last night, but Clare was much more at her ease. She had reported here at 05:30 as Shaffer had suggested, and one of the crewmembers had let her in and shown her where to stand, where she could see everything but not be in anyone’s sight line.

  ‘Launch window’s open, sir.’ The crewman monitoring the orbital situation display looked up from his monitor.

  ‘Roger. Let them know.’ Shaffer didn’t remove the binoculars from his eyes as he watched the spaceplane on the flight deck.

  ‘Orbital One Four Nine, Tower, launch window is open.’

  ‘One Four Nine, roger. Ready to start engines.’ Clare could hear Hartigan’s voice on the speakers.

  ‘One Four Nine, clear to start engines. Report when ready for disconnect.’

  Clare imagined the scene on board the spaceplane, Hartigan watching the engine RPM come up as his copilot started them in turn. She could see a faint cough of flame from each engine as it ignited, before it was snatched away by the slipstream.

  She glanced back to the western horizon. The dark blue of the sky had lightened in the last few minutes, and she could see the whole of the horizon clearly now, extending round the Langley.

  ‘One Four Nine, four good engines. On internal power, brakes on, ready to disconnect.’

  ‘One Four Nine, ready disconnect.’ The tower controller changed channel. ‘Deck Ops, Tower. Disconnect umbilical and close up.’

  ‘Deck Ops, disconnect and close, roger.’

  Shaffer lowered his binoculars and looked down at the weather radar.

  ‘Come round to two six five.’

  ‘Two six five, roger.’ The tower controller spoke briefly to the control room, requesting a course change, and a few moments later Clare could see the nose of the Langley, silhouetted against the pale light of dawn, move a fraction to the left and steady out.

  ‘Tower, Deck Ops. Umbilical disconnected, all covers closed, aircraft is clear to release.’

  Shaffer checked the flight deck and the spaceplane one more time.

  ‘Ready trim, aft.’

  ‘Control, Tower. Standby trim change, forward.’

  ‘Control room, ready to trim forward.’

  Clare couldn’t see the Langley’s forward control surfaces in the half-light, but she knew they would be moving, continuously adjusting the centre of lift to keep the carrier steady and trimmed. Slower than this, tonnes of ballast was waiting to be pumped into the forward tanks, ready to rebalance the carrier when the huge mass of the fully loaded spaceplane lifted off from the deck.

  ‘One Four Nine, you are disconnected and ready for release. Report when ready for takeoff.’

  Shaffer looked at the weather radar display again, gauging the winds. ‘Come right two degrees.’

  ‘Right two degrees, roger.’

  ‘Ready launch checklist!’ Shaffer barked out the command. ‘Weather!’

  ‘Go.’

  ‘Air traffic!’

&
nbsp; ‘Clear all round.’

  ‘Orbital climb!’

  ‘Go.’

  ‘Trim!’

  ‘Ready.’

  ‘Deck Ops!’

  ‘Clear.’

  As Shaffer called out the last checks, Clare could feel the mounting tension in the room. Outside, the pale rose of dawn was spreading up the western sky, and the deck of the carrier was becoming visible, outlined by the brilliant lines of deck lighting.

  The spaceplane’s elevons and rudders cycled through their control movements; up, down, left, right, as the crew checked the control surfaces for full and free movement.

  ‘One Four Nine, ready for takeoff.’ Hartigan’s voice came over the speakers.

  ‘Begin shallow dive, eight degrees.’

  ‘Eight degrees dive, roger.’

  Clare felt the giant carrier start to pitch down, the nose dropping against the lightening horizon. She caught hold of one of the window surrounds to hold herself against the tilt of the deck.

  Shaffer took one last glance all around.

  ‘Clear takeoff.’

  ‘One Four Nine, clear for takeoff. Left turn after takeoff, heading two three zero, clear orbital climb to three four zero kilometres. Orbit inclination minus zero four zero, insertion point Charlie One at zero six five two Zulu for rendezvous with Space Tug One Eight Indianapolis.’

  Clare heard Hartigan’s co-pilot read the clearance back. There was a pause while they ran through the final checks, then the spaceplane’s wing spoilers lowered and its four engine nozzles opened wide. Four fat blue flames stabbed out in the darkness as the engines wound up to full afterburning thrust. The spaceplane strained against the hold down clamps, trying to fly. The landing lights came on, illuminating the deck in a fan of white light, signalling that Hartigan was ready to go.

  ‘Shoot!’ The tower controller barked out the command, and Clare’s stomach swooped as the giant carrier lifted its huge spoiler panels, disrupting the airflow over the wings. The carrier started to fall out of the sky, and at the same moment, the hold down clamps flew open. The spaceplane lifted smoothly into the air, and Clare saw the thrust vectoring nozzles glow red-hot as they angled to move the heavy craft up and away over the flight deck.

  A thunder of engines buffeted the control tower as the spaceplane banked to the left and started to climb, a dark shape against the dawn. The four flames from its afterburners went out abruptly, and then it was dwindling, disappearing into the south-west sky.

  ‘One Four Nine, positive climb.’

  ‘Orbital One Four Nine, you are clear of carrier, maintain heading two three zero, clear orbital climb. Contact Space Tug Indianapolis on X band, have a good day.’

  ‘Maintain two three zero, clear orbital climb, contact Indianapolis on X band, Orbital One Four Nine. Thanks, see you again soon.’

  Clare watched the winking navigation lights of the departing spaceplane as it dwindled into the distance. She had liked and respected Hartigan; he was a good commanding officer and the last year had passed quickly. Now she was on her own. For a moment, she had a strange sense of her old life departing, and she shivered, although it was warm in the control tower.

  ‘Okay, they’re away safely. Level out and retrim, climb to cruise when ready,’ Shaffer said, lowering his binoculars.

  The tower controller spoke to the control room, and the giant spoiler panels on the carrier’s wings lowered. The carrier levelled off and began to climb, the roar of its engines increasing.

  ‘Well, lieutenant, what do you think?’ Shaffer turned to Clare and grinned. ‘Did you know, one of the first designs for these carriers was an airship. Makes me shudder to think what spaceplane takeoffs would have been like.’

  ‘Fascinating to watch. Thank you, sir.’

  Shaffer nodded. ‘That’s the biggest launch we ever do from here. The smaller aircraft don’t need anything like that, we just stay straight and level and watch the trim.’ He glanced at the situation display for a moment, watching the increasing height, and then turned to the tower controller. ‘I think we can turn down the deck lighting, we’re not doing any more flying for a couple of hours.’

  ‘Yes sir.’ Outside, the lines of white and yellow lights faded, and Clare realised that she could see the carrier in the dawn. She looked into the west, and there on the edge of the planet was a curve of red, the upper edge of the rising Sun. It grew as she watched, emerging from the layers of cloud and haze on the planet’s horizon, turning the banks of high haze a vivid crimson. It looked spectacular, and Clare wished she were out there, flying amongst the clouds.

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be out there soon.’ Shaffer seemed to be reading her thoughts. ‘Take it easy today, and report to the medical officer at zero nine hundred tomorrow morning. If she passes you as fit to fly, you can collect your equipment from stores and report to the ready room at fourteen hundred tomorrow for flight training.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Clare smiled happily, and turned to go.

  ‘Oh, and Foster.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘It’s going to be me doing the training, so don’t be late.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Clare walked down the three flights of stairs that led down from the tower. The roar of air was very loud here; it thundered and buffeted around the metal walls of the tower structure. At the bottom of the second flight there was one small window, which looked out directly across the Langley’s flight deck, and she stopped to peer out. In the growing daylight, she could see the two arresting cables strung across the landing area, and the glowing beads of the deck lighting.

  She continued on down the stairs, descending into the structure of the right wing, and along a narrow corridor that led along inside the wing, to emerge in the main corridor. She suddenly felt hungry, and she glanced at her watch. The breakfast service would have started by now. She turned right, and headed back towards the front of the ship, and the galley.

  She had just started eating when Coombes came up and set down his tray opposite her. Cutlery clattered as he sat down.

  Light streamed into the galley from the sweep of windows that looked out onto the blue morning sky. The Langley had taken up position again at sixty-one kilometres altitude, ready for a day of flight operations.

  ‘Morning.’ Coombes held up his glass of orange juice to her. ‘How was the launch?’

  ‘Great. Had a good view from the tower.’

  ‘I bet you did. I heard the flight leave. Did you sleep okay?’

  ‘Went out like a light.’ She waved her spoon over the bowl of oatmeal she was eating. ‘This is really good.’

  ‘Considering where we are, the food’s excellent. We’d never tell the catering officer that, though,’ he grinned.

  Clare looked round. The galley was filling up. She had been one of the first here, but now the line stretched back out of the door, and the catering staff were busily filling plates as the line moved past the serving stations.

  Coombes dumped milk onto his cereals. ‘Listen, I’ve been assigned to take you on a tour. You can’t fly until tomorrow, so it’s a good time to see round the ship.’

  ‘Hey, that’d be great. All I’ve seen so far is the hangar and the captain’s stateroom. And here.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that.’ Coombes glanced over his shoulder, at the view of the sky and clouds. ‘Best restaurant view in the solar system, if you ask me.’

  ‘What, better than seeing Jupiter from Callisto?’

  Coombes smiled. ‘You been there?’

  She shook her head. ‘As a newly qualified pilot? That’s a five year tour, with three years spent in stasis. I don’t fancy losing that much of my life so early on.’

  ‘Think of all those bonuses. And a promotion to captain when you get back.’

  ‘Yeah. Guess it would suit some people.’ She didn’t sound convinced, and there was a brief pause in conversation. She looked upwards. ‘Must make quite a noise in here during flight ops.’ The galley was directly under the flight d
eck, just in front of the deck elevator.

  ‘It’s not too bad – the Frigates don’t make too much noise even if they miss the wire and do a bolter. Spaceplanes though – if one of those misses a trap, you’ll know about it. Forty-plus tonnes of spaceplane going over on full afterburner is going to break a few plates.’

  Clare nodded. It had all passed in a flash for her, but she could still see the impossibly short flight deck in front of her, feel the sudden, brutal grab of the wire, and the sense of relief as they rolled to a halt just before the deck elevator.

  ‘Was yesterday your first time?’ Coombes asked.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Not bad for a rookie.’ He ripped a roll apart and started spreading it with butter. ‘How did you find it?’

  ‘Fast. Everything seemed to happen much faster than in the simulator. Do you do any flying yourself?’

  ‘No, only as a passenger. But the landings scare the shit out of me. I don’t know how you guys do it, day in, day out.’

  ‘Well I’ve only done one so far. Let’s hope I don’t screw up the next few, otherwise it’ll be a short tour.’ She sat back, coffee mug in hand, and took an appreciative sip. It was fabulous to be able to drink good coffee again, at full atmospheric pressure, so that the water boiled at the right temperature.

  Coombes glanced at her. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  You could tell she was the dedicated type, he thought. But who wasn’t, who had made it this far? USAC training didn’t recognise the word ‘mediocre’. Either you made the grade, or you weren’t in the Corps at all.

  ‘How many tours have you done here?’ she asked.

  ‘Me? This is my second. I did thirteen months on the Wright at the end of my training, and I’m fifteen months in on a long-bonus tour this time.’