The T-38 leapt back up to the sky, and the light reverted to its deep purple.

She tasted saliva at the back of her throat, sharp, like rusty iron. “Phil, I don’t feel so good.”

“If you have to barf, take off your oxygen mask.”

I would if I knew how.

“And turn the mix in your mask to a hundred percent 02,” he said. “Turn on your cold air blower.”

When she tried that, taking deep breaths of the oxygen, the pressure on her throat lessened.

“Anyhow,” he said, “you wouldn’t want to miss this next part.”

“Huh?”

At forty-five thousand feet, Stone lit the afterburner. Over her shoulder York could see white condensate blossoming behind the T-38. She watched the airspeed climb up toward six hundred miles an hour, higher, higher.

And through Mach 1. Jesus.

There was the mildest of vibrations, and then the ride got a lot smoother. The noise of the jets died to a whisper; the plane was traveling so fast, York realized, it was outrunning its own sound.

The cockpit was a little bubble of serenity, of cool, easy flying; meanwhile, she knew, sonic thunder was washing down on the ground below. A few feet ahead of her there was Stone inside his own canopy, the only living thing within miles of her, and around them the plane was a little isolated island of reality, gleaming paint and warm air and hard surfaces, up here in the mouth of the sky. She felt somehow closer to Stone, as if bonded to him.

“How you doing now?” Stone asked, his intercom voice loud in the stillness.

“Oh, good, Phil,” she said. “I’m good. This is—”

“I know.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes concealed by his sunglasses. “And in orbit, you’ll fly twenty times as fast, many times higher. Maybe now you’ll understand better why some of us get so hooked on this stuff.”

She grimaced. “Is my disapproval that obvious?”

“To me it is. I don’t blame you. But you’ve got to learn to understand the other guy’s point of view.”

Suddenly she felt defensive. “What do you care?”

He laughed, evidently not taking offense. “More than you think, maybe. Natalie, I’ve seen you work around the Office. I think you have potential. I think we need people like you in the program. But you have to learn to work in a team.”

He threw the plane suddenly into a new series of dives and barrel rolls.

York pulled out her bag and sat in misery, staring at her knees, while the world wheeled around her.

The T-38 approached the runway like a falling rock. The landing, when it came, was soft and quick.

The techs helped York out of the cockpit. Her queasiness had gone already, but she felt disoriented, as if she had grown smaller, lighter; she felt oppressed by the heavy sky above her, the hot, moisture-laden air.