Androv spoke into his helmet mike. "I'm beginning to think we won't make it. Petra is now probably estimating thrust based on faulty assumptions about oxygen intake. There's nothing left up here to burn. There'll be no need to abort. The edge of the atmosphere is going to do it for us." He looked up at the big screen and said, "Petra, project image from the nose camera, rotated to minus ninety."
“Confirmed,” she replied and flashed an image sprinkled with stars. Then the camera swept around, and the massive screen at the end of their cabin brought into view the edge of a wide globe that seemed to be composed of shimmering blue. It was the North Pacific.
"I just wanted to see this," he said wistfully. "I once took a MiG 25 to seventy-three thousand feet, but it was nothing to compare. We're in space."
"I've been eavesdropping on satellites for years," Eva commented. "But this gives it all a whole new perspective."
“Ten seconds. Prepare to terminate hydrogen feeds.”
The airspeed indicator now read Mach 24.8. Closing. . . .
Vance reached for the heavy throttle grips, watching the final seconds tick down.
. . . four, three, two, one . . .
“Terminate hydrogen feeds.”
He yanked back on the handles, feeling a dying tremor flow through the vehicle. The airspeed indicator had just hit 17,108 mph.