Chapter 7

The Space Controller turned to his boss and said, “that’s the third Songbird I’ve heard this week, what is up with them?”

“Oh, they’re a private company that collects spent satellites and tears them down for their components and uses them to build new satellites. It looks like he picked up a booster from that new satellite that Vandenberg just launched,” said the senior controller. Neither realized that the booster was a capsule with a human being inside.

“Cool. Thanks. Thundering Waters, this is Low Earth Orbit Control, we’re clear for your next launch.”

Out in the middle of Lake Ontario, the NSS Conrad sat ready for launch. The aft ballast tanks filled, and the bow came up out of the water, giving the U-700 shuttle an angled deck for launch. “Damn it,” muttered Commander Roger Crouch. He’s got a full ship, he’s carrying an admiral, his wife, a marine colonel and her three children. “Space Boss this is Greyhound One One, all indications are nominal we are ready to go.”

“Roger Greyhound One One, you are clear for launch.”

The U-700 shook as its four air-breathing engines roared and the pilot yelled, “Hands! Head! Feet!” warning the passengers to insure their extremities were secure for launch. He thumbed the launch button, and the NSS Conrad’s catapult slung the U-700 into the air.

“WHOO HOO!!!” shouted a pair of young voices on the intercom. The children were cheering? They were wearing small environment suits and there were child adapters in each seat for them. The youngest was in a small pod and the mother said he was full of Benadryl, but the other two should have been screaming and crying. In his career, he learned all preschoolers cry during launch.

The ship shook like it was coming apart at Max Q and the kids just laughed and giggled, then finally the air-breathing engines shut down and the J-72 kicked in with a bang.

“Whoo hoo!” cried Anna as she was slammed back into her seat.

“GO! GO! GO!” shouted Little Wally.

Finally, they reached a stable orbit and Roger looked over at his copilot, but there was a small child floating between them and grinning. “Hi,” said the small boy with a huge grin.

“Wally! What did I say?” said Pandora, and she grabbed her son’s leg and pulled him back. “Don’t bother the pilot!”

“But you’re a pilot too!” said Little Wally with a pout.

“And you bother me too, now leave him alone. Let him fly.”

Roger looked back and the small girl was floating above the passenger seats, her arms and legs spread wide out, her braided pigtails sticking out too, and she rotated horizontally, slowly, above the seats. She came around and saw the pilot watching and she giggled, “I’m doing sideways cartwheels.”

“I have never seen kids take to space like this,” said Roger Crouch.

“They were almost born in space. We live on earth, but they were all born on Mars. We make this trip quite often,” Pandora sighed. “You should see them on the leg out to Mars.”

The U-700 gained altitude on its third orbit and soon pulled up to Camp Schmidt. Camp Schmidt is a large “wagon wheel” style space station in geosynchronous orbit above the remains of Camp Lejune. Camp Schmidt is the Marine Corps’ only space station, and it’s a busy place with flights coming in and out daily, and hundreds of marines getting training on zero g fighting.

Before they pulled into the dock, Pandora and her mom captured Little Wally and Anna and got their suits and helmets back on them and put them back in their seats. “Aw mom!” whined Wally.

“No, you’re not getting out of your seat until the hanger door is closed behind us. You’re not going to fly off into space.”

“Just a little,” pouted Wally.

“Looks like you have a direct connection,” said Commander Crouch, as he waited for a huge B-171 bomber to connect to the exterior docking hatch on the hub of Camp Schmidt. Once the bomber was in place, he spun the shuttle around on its axis and, using the low power proximity radar, he slowly backed the U-700 into the hangar. “I watched a guy do this last year,” said Commander Crouch.