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around him. “Why don’t we talk about that later on the private channel? Give me your status, Commander.”
    “Profile check complete,” McManus reported. “All systems are go. I repeat-all systems are go.”
    ***
    Three miles from the runway, the numbers ticked down on countdown clocks mounted on poles before the outdoor observation decks. The area was packed with over fifteen thousand spectators. People were cheering, many waving flags. The countdown of the flashing digital numbers was read aloud in a steady chant until the twenty-second mark when out on the runway the twin engines of the Naiad suddenly burst to life. The sound started as a low whine and quickly built up to a steady roar. Though the craft remained fixed in place, the fiery exhaust created shimmering heat waves that swept over the blast shield and boiled into the sky.
    Barely audible over the rolling thunder, an announcer bellowed the final countdown from ten to zero over the grandstand speakers.
    The power-up began as a low rumble, so deep in pitch its sound was felt more than heard. Then the Naiad leapt forward. The nose dipped as the front landing strut compressed to absorb the massive surge of power. Five seconds after primary ignition, each engine was producing nearly six million pounds of thrust, accelerating the orbiter to nearly one hundred miles per hour as it streaked down the runway. The crowd rose to its feet.
    Eight seconds later, twelve seconds after primary ignition, the Naiad reached a speed of two hundred miles per hour. It was still accelerating when small puffs of smoke kicked up from the wheels. Then the orbiter lifted from the runway and arced into the cloudless sky. As the Naiad streaked toward the desert horizon, the roar grew fainter, replaced by the thundering cheers of the crowd.
    ***
    Inside the Launch Control Tower, work continued. Noah Gettleman felt the tightness in his chest ease as the Naiad announced power-up of its engines to ninety-three percent. The most dangerous part of the launch was over, and now System Ops would take over communication duties. Gettleman would be back later to check on their progress. The Naiad had thirty-two hours before it would match orbit with the International Space Station in preparation for docking.
    “Good job, people,” he said over the open channel. There was no cheering or applause. Most everyone remained at his or her terminal. The controllers lived by the maxim that the only successful mission was a completed one. There would be time for celebration after the Naiad was back on Earth.
    Gettleman slumped into his chair, tossed his headset on the desk, and leaned forward to rub his temples. A feeling of sudden emptiness tempered his elation. Somehow, it seemed a letdown that all the work, stress, and effort expended over the last few months could be over so quickly. His job came down to single, defining moments. This had been one of them.
    “Problems, Noah?”
    Gettleman swiveled around and looked up to see Brian Ebeling, one of his Assistant Flight Directors. Ebeling was here to handle operations for the afternoon.
    “What did you say?” Gettleman asked.
    “Anything I should know about before I take over?”
    Gettleman shook his head.
    The thin, prematurely balding man handed the Flight Director a thick file.
    “These are the expenditure reports you wanted.”
    Gettleman opened the file. “What took you so long to get this to me?”
    Ebeling took a small step back in surprise. “Do you think I’m crazy? I wasn’t going to bother you before the launch.”
    Gettleman flipped through the pages. “Did you find what I wanted?”
    “Yeah,” Ebeling said with a frown. “But never, ever ask me to do that again. All I wanted was one list of costs. They wanted to give me the numbers sixteen different ways. By month, by quarter, by projected versus actual costs. By God, engineers should never be subjected to the inquisition of an accounting department.”
    Gettleman managed a small