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but did not. Both hands stayed in position, the left on the stick and the
right on the thrusters.
Keep!
He glanced at the trim warning and bled enough from the starboard fan to
correct the incipient yaw.
"What's the closure?"
"Half kilo a minute."
The pilot shook his head. He was headed east at damned near two hundred
kays. The spout was tearing across the high prairie south and westward at more
than one fifty.
"We got the data in the cube?"
"Need another five on this heading. Lieutenant." That comment was from the
Ops duty officer at Prime Base, although Prime was the only base so far.
"That's cutting it close."
"Your choice. If we don't get another five, then we'll have to scmb and
rerun tomorrow."
"What's Met say about tomorrow?"
"Could be worse than today. The jetstream's dropping and dipping south, and
the ground level temperature will be higher."
"Hades! We'U do it!"
Beep! Beep!
Gerswin used both the fan bleed and the hydraulic boosted rudders to
straighten the yaw while leveling the flitter again.
The purple black of the landspout now filled nearly half of the flitter's
windscreen.
"Grit intake at ten percent," announced the console's warning system.
Gerswin could feel the dampness on his forehead.
"Three minutes to go. Lieutenant. Sure you can hold it?"
The voice belonged to Major Sofaer, coming in from Prime.
"Fourth time on the same flamed line. No landspout . . . going to back me
out."
"Port thruster in the yellow. Running dme three point five."
THUD! THUD!
"Impact on rear port stub. Impact on forward port stub."
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"Flame!"
Ding! Ding! Ding!
"Starboard thruster in the yellow. Running time three point five. Port
thruster in the yellow. Running time three point zero. Closed system reserve
two point four."
THUD! THUD!THUD!
The flitter slewed left, the nose jerking up, then from left to right.
"Multiple impacts, main fuselage."
Twisting full turns into both thrusters, Gerswin stamped nearly full right
rudder and leveled the nose again. Then he dropped the power back to eighty
percent.
"Prime outrider. Prime outrider. Data's in the cube. In the cube."
"Stet. In the cube. Flaming clear. Flaming clear."
THUD!
Ding! Ding! Ding!
"Starboard thruster in the yellow. Running time two point five. Port
thruster in the yellow. Running time two point zero."
Gerswin blinked, blinked again, from the sting of the salty sweat running
into the comers of his eyes, even as he completed the left hand bank away from
the towering purple vortex of the landspout.
THUD!
Beep! Beep! Beep!
"Grit level at fifteen percent. Five percent power loss on port thruster."
THUD!
"Unidentified impact on forward port stub."
"Flame. Flame. Flame," grunted the pilot.
Gerswin eased the flitter back level and twisted up the power on both
thrusters with a half turn more to the left. The sweat kept dripping into the
comers of his eyes, but he left both hands in place, gave his head a quick
downward snap to drop the helmet's impact visor.
The purple of the spout dominated almost the entire armaglass windscreen.
Gerswin flicked his eyes to the lower right comer of the bubble toward a
spot where the ground fog had thinned momentarily.
Had he seen some sort of structure?
He caught himself before he shook his head, resuming his normal scan of the
instruments.
THUD!
Beep! Beep!
"Impact on upper starboard stub."
"Grit level approaching twenty percent."
"You've got one minute. Lieutenant. Just one."
"Stet, Prime. Stet."
Ding! Ding! Ding!
"Impact on the rear port stub."
"Grit level at fifteen percent and dropping."
"Prime outrider. Wind sheer at ten kilos, two nine five and closing."
Gerswin glanced at the homer. Fifty-six kays to Prime.
"Interrogative closure rate."
"Three point five per minute."
"Interrogative course line of the sheer front. Interrogative sheer angle."
"Sheer angle unknown. Course line estimated at one zero five."
"Stet. One zero five."
The pilot edged his own course to two eight five, lifted the Hitter's nose,
and twisted in full turns.
"Grit level at twelve percent and dropping."
With the flitter stable for a moment, Gerswin snapped his head to retract
the helmet's impact visor, and with his left hand wiped the sweat away from
his eyes and off his forehead.
That done, he snapped the clear impact visor back in place.
"Should have opted for arcdozers," he muttered.
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"Where would the glory be. Lieutenant?"
"Thanks, York. Thanks, loads."
"Grit level at ten percent and stable. Permanent power loss at ten
percent."
Gerswin frowned. The fans in both thrusters would have to be repolished and
retuned. Either that, or replaced with another set, if there was one to be
had.
"Prime outrider. Less than one minute to sheer impact."
The pilot's eyes nickered from the thrust indicators to the balance lines,
to the speed readouts, to the radalt, and down to the VSI, which still
indicated a constant rate of climb.
He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and squared himself in the padded
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