Pegasus went into the atmosphere again in a long, shallow, turning glide. The heat built up until Rick's tense, weakened condition couldn't tolerate it any longer. He slid to the floor, unconscious.
Jerry Lipton had flown everything from small private planes to the latest jet. He had directed drone planes into atomic clouds and on trial bomb runs. But never in his career had he been faced with a piloting job like Pegasus.
It had been difficult enough, with just the rocket to worry about. But with Rick's life in his hands . . .
John Gordon and Gee-Gee Gould were standing by, relaying information to the pilot. Jerry watched the shape on the radar screen climb to higher altitude and asked, "What's his velocity?"
Dr. Bond was doing the calculations, based on the rocket's travel through the radar beam.
"Just above five thousand miles an hour."
Jerry shook his head. "I can't keep him up there all day. How's the temperature?"
Gee-Gee Gould consulted the temperature trace on the display.
"Cabin temperature is 105 Fahrenheit. The monk is in trouble, too. Skin temperature is just about the same as the cabin. That means Rick is running about the same."