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           “Ready
when you are.” Breanna looked at the left corner of her front screen, where the
engine data had been preprogrammed to appear. “Computer. Takeoff engine start.
Proceed.”
                 “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 Breanna’s screen, laid
over the endless vista of the cleared runway and the surrounding dry lake beds
that encircled Dreamland. Breanna and the computer moved through the long
checklist slowly, making sure everything was good to go. The computer could
facilitate quick takeoffs by color-coding the items—those it knew were “in the
green” or good to go were shown in green letters, problems were in red. No
caution (yellow) was permitted on takeoff; the items would be marked red
instead, and the takeoff held until the trouble was corrected.
                 With
the systems checked and rechecked, everything from fuel flow to air temperature
recorded, parsed, and fretted over, Breanna glanced at the static camera from
the runway to make sure her path was clean. Cleared, she loosened the brakes
and took a long, slow breath.
                 And
then she was off. The B-5’s engines cycled up to takeoff power and she trundled
down the runway, speed building slowly. Relatively heavy for its airfoil even
with the wings horizontal, the plane needed more distance than a B-52 to get
airborne. That would change with the new wings. Even then, the rocket engine
would probably be selected for a brief burn to make the takeoff easier, and
more comfortable for Breanna.
                 Though
she’d flown it several times now, Breanna’s feel for the UMB remained distorted
and distant. As he indicated speed climbed above one hundred knots, the plane
began to lift on its own. She held the stick a second too long, but came off
the ground smoothly. The slight hitch bothered her; she was still slightly
disoriented as he altitude began to climb.
                 Maybe
if they added some sound feedback, she thought, making a mental note to bring
it up at the post-flight briefing.
                 Captain
Breanna Stockard had headed the UMB project for three weeks now. It was
supposed to be a permanent job; the previous UMB director had been posted to
the Pentagon months before. But Breanna had stubbornly insisted the duty be
officially “temporary,” so she could decide if she wanted the assignment.
                 Of
course she did—it was potentially the most important job in the Air Force. Even
if the UMB never won approval as the follow-on to the B-2, the technology it
tested would undoubtedly serve the military for the next two or three decades.
But it meant leaving the Megafortress, and flying, behind.
                 Breanna’s
husband, Jeff “Zen” Stockard, had flown the aircraft on its first two flight.
His overall take on flying the plane could be summed up in one word: “boring.”
He complained it was even more reliant on its native or onboard computer than
the Flighthawk, and probably didn’t need a real pilot at all. Unlike the
U/MF’s, which needed to be fairly close to their command plane, the UMB was
designed to be flown entirely from the ground at vast distances using hooks in
the Dreamland secure satellite system.
                 Boring?
Maybe if you were a pilot used to taking six or seven Gs with your morning
donut.
                 “Dreamland
B-5 UMB is airborne and passing marker three-seven,” reported Breanna as they
reached the airspace for the morning tests. “We have green indicators all
around. I did ask for salsa music in the background, however, and it’s not
coming through.”
                 “Preempted
by baseball,” shot back Lieutenant Art