"I'd like to see her and—Nayarevayet!—just once." He smiled in spite of himself as the tunnel widened more and the screens before his eyes began to recolor, pale hues gradually darkening to primary shades. The blood was returning to his brain. Acceleration was stabilizing now, down to 4.7 G's.
"She'd be a cold-hearted piece, Yuri. Guaranteed."
"It's been so long, I probably wouldn't notice." That's what he really needed now—a woman.
"You would, believe me," the radio continued. "By the way, congratulations. Your alpha was right across the oscilloscope, as always. Zero stress response. How do you do it, tovarisch? I think Petra was more worried than you were."
"Shut off the tape, and cut the 'comrade' crap," he
barked back. "Sergei, I nearly lost it there at nine point five."
"No indication on the physio monitors." The flight technician sounded unconvinced.
"The hell with the wavy lines. I know what was happening," he snapped again, still wired with tension. "Can we get another fifteen percent tilt out of this damned seat, help lower my head. There're no windows anyway, so who cares where I'm looking?"
"We can send a memo to Engineering," the radio voice replied. "Though there may not be time."
"Tell them they'd better make fucking time. Say I want it done." Not enough time? What in hell was going on?