Page 37 of Frequency of Attraction

Well, that was fucking noble.

A few seconds later, Harv added, “I’m glad it’s you. Chen was a breath of fresh air for the program, but I got the impression he was in this game for the challenge. You? You want to be up there for your soul. Youneedthis.”

“Didn’t know you were a philosopher,” Vadim muttered.

“’Course I am. I live in the sky.”

Thomas and Tate and a dozen other people on the safety and testing teams milled about on the runway near the T-38. Vadim’s stomach flipped again. They’d already held an hour-long briefing, checked the conditions in the sky and on the ground. Why the audience?

Thomas clapped his hands together. “Here we go. Harv, get him up, pull some Gs, put him in some tough conditions. You,” he barked at Vadim. “Your two hundred hours in this jet starts now. Don’t hit any fucking birds and land the damn thing without breaking it.”

Beaming, Tate turned to Vadim. “Even if today goes terribly, remember that you’re still an astronaut.”

Vadim scowled. “Thanks, Doctor Doom.”

Tate chuckled. “Do you know what hazing is?”

Vadim shook his head.

“You will.” He clapped Vadim on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

Harv did a walk around the plane to check the gear. Vadim followed, making mental notes as Harv explained what he looked for. Done with the preflight checklist, he pulled on his gloves and climbed into the front seat, where he added his helmet and hooked into the plane’s systems for oxygen and communication. Harv climbed in behind him. Vadim strapped in and adjusted his shoulder belt, his nerves settling. A cockpit was a cockpit. There were a ton of instruments, but he really only needed to pay attention to them if something went wrong. Mostly, flying was feeling.

“Kick it,” he heard Harv say through their headsets. Vadim set the engine roaring to life. Even with the gear, the loud jet vibrated his bones. The heads-up display appeared in his sightline. A voice from Control chirped in his ear that they were cleared for takeoff. He pulled the hatch closed. It was closer to the top of his head than might be comfortable if Harv got cute with maneuvers. He lowered his seat just in case.

Vadim nudged the throttle forward. The jet responded immediately, smaller and lighter than he was used to. He accelerated, the flat, tawny ground on both sides sliding past them. When he hit speed, Vadim lifted off into bumpy air. He stowed the landing gear and readied to follow the course that he knew would not run smooth. At twenty thousand feet, past the cloud deck, he began to relax. This flight, his hours in this jet getting his ass kicked, got him that much closer to space.

“Decelerate a little to see if anything adverse happens,” Harv encouraged.

Nothing adverse happened. But then the pedals started to shake and the jet began to shudder. Instinctively, Vadim nosed up and pushed the stick forward to add air under the wings. The ride smoothed out.

Harv’s voice sounded in his headset. “How’s your harness?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Spins.”

Fucker.

“I’m gonna put her into a roll, and you’re going to get us out.”

The plane pitched to the side. Again, Vadim corrected on instinct. And again. But then Harv kicked them into a tumble. Upside down, it became harder to see, to focus on his instruments as he somersaulted forward and backward. Vadim blinked through the sweat in his eyes as he was pulled toward the roof and shoved to the floor by gravity. Fuck, he’d never had to recover from spins in real life, only in the sim. Real somersaults were nauseating and terrifying. With a grunt, Vadim idled the engine. The more power, the more violent the spin. A wild glance at his turn needle showed they were rotating right, so he applied the left rudder and punched forward on the yoke. Abruptly, they were out of the condition and sailing back up. The ground had gotten a hell of a lot closer that time.

“Fuck you, Harvey,” Vadim grumbled. His stomach was still in knots.

“Taking control,” he replied cheerfully. “Get ready for Gs. Don’t worry, we can only do five in this baby.”

Gravity forces would come into play on Stratos. Aboard the spaceplane, he’d have a suit and specialized oxygen flow to keep him safe. Here, in this cramped, hot, loud training jet, he just had his body, mind, and a prayer. He’d never had to deal with significant Gs before.

Harv put them into a dive at incredible speed. Vadim had to squeeze his eyes shut. Screaming toward the ground went against all his training and instincts. Harv pulled up into an arc, again and again, tighter each time, while maintaining speed. Vadim blinked through dizziness and tried to shake off the sweat that wouldn’t stop forming as they pitched from ground to sky and back again. A red haze floated in front of his eyes before blackness struck. When he blinked back into consciousness, Mila’s face and a giggle he’d never heard before were fading.

“You okay up there?”

Vadim didn’t answer. Had he fuckingfainted? No, really.Fainted? Vadim Baranov, who hadn’t been fazed by any of the physical conditioning at Star City? He could swim for miles. Run for more. Hold his breath underwater for nearly five minutes. But that had all been years ago. Now he only lifted weights and ran. What kind of pilot fainted in a plane? What kind of astronaut couldn’t handle a few Gs?

“Fine,” he ground out.

Mila’s giggle still echoed. His stomach churned and Vadim didn’t know if the nausea came from shame, grief, or the effects of fucking with gravity, but it hurt.

---