Grant blinked. "What's that again?"
She swung a pointed finger at the ship. "Naturally," she interrupted, "the nose will float downward in the canal, hoisting the hot tubes out of the liquid at the end of the glide-ins. But you've got pilot, power plant, and wings frontside. How can you affect glide-ins at surface air density without nosing in?"
The major decided she must have been reading the latest confidential files. High-viscosity liquid landing canals constituted a subject recent enough to be Security and important enough not to be bandied about outside engineering and Base Mojave.
"Well, you see," Grant cleared his throat, "there're the fuel tanks along the back of the blast chamber, partly lead—"
"The tanks usually are nearly empty for glide-ins," she reminded.
Grant frowned. "Yes, usually empty, but still a weight factor. Then there's the automatic wing stabilizer that adjusts to the air speed and density and acts to pull up the nose—"
"O.K.," she interrupted. "Now, would you lift me through the canopy, please? I'd like to sit inside a minute."
"That's out," he said. "Only pilots and technicians."
"All right, if you won't, I'll get up myself." She marched over to the hangar wall and pulled over boarding steps, which were braced on three pivotal tires.
"Bridget, Security says pilots and mechanics."