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so comfortable the pilot would be in constant danger of falling
asleep; Breanna thought that a remote possibility at best. While the chair
adjusted in several dimensions, it was impossible to find a setting that didn’t
put a kink in her back—or somewhere else.
                 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 Breanna preferred; the computer stood ready to translate
her words into commands as quickly as she could utter them into the small
microphone at the end of her headset.
                 That,
Breanna felt, was a big part of the problem. The aircraft had been designed to
be flown entirely by the computer; the cockpit was really just an afterthought,
which explained why it was so stinking uncomfortable. Had it actually been in
the plane, however, it would have been even worse. There, it would have had to
squeeze into a thick, double-layer ceramic-titanium airfoil whose sinewy, weblike skin slid back from a needle nose into a shape
described by its designers as an “aerodynamic triangle.” Its midsection looked
something like a stretched B-1 bomber with engine inlets top and bottom, and
wings capable of canting about ten degrees up and down as well as swinging out
and it. It had a shallow tailfin on both the top and bottom of the fuselage. In
order to keep the tailfin clear when landing or taking off, it sat on a set of
landing gear that undoubtedly broke all previous records for height. Even so,
when the aircraft was fully loaded, less than eighteen inches separated the
wingtips from the runway, making it necessary to physically sweep the runway
clean before taking off so any mishap might be avoided.
                 This
tedious process added considerably to the pilot’s consternation as she waited
for clearance to begin her test flight.
                 Known
as the UMB—Unmanned Bomber Platform—or B-5, the plane was among Dreamland’s
most ambitious projects to date. Once fully operational, it would fly at
somewhere over six times the speed of sound, yet have the turning radius at
Mach 3 of an F/A-18 just pushing five hundred knots. The UMB was designed to
fly in near-earth orbit for extended deployments; there it could serve as an
observation platform and launch-point for a suite of smart weapons still under
study. Its engine, which were powered by hydrogen fuel, were not yet ready for
such lofty flights, though today’s test would take it to a very respectable 200,000
feet. Similarly, the configurable leading and trailing portions of the
wings—inflated by pressurized hydrogen to microcontrol the airfoil—had not yet replaced the more conventional leading-and
trailing-edge control surfaces, thus limiting its maneuverability to a more
conventional range.
                 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.”