his deep voice came. "What's wrong?"
"I think the rear starboard shield is loose," Raina cried. "I'm going in through the hold to check it out!"
"No!" the monk roared. "It's too dangerous. If the panel's loose or damaged the heat, not to mention the electromagnetic radiation, can get in. It could kill you!"
"And so will burning up in the atmosphere if I don't fix it," Raina shouted back. "We don't have any choice in this, Tremayne, and you know it. I'm here and you're not."
"Don't!" Teague bellowed. "Don't do it!"
Raina hesitated an instant longer, then released the intercom button. Turning, she made her unsteady way down to the end of the corridor and the floor panel that opened into the hold.
Six
The computer panel flashed in a dizzying array of colors. Monitors sounded alarms. A terminal exploded, filling the cockpit with the scent of smoke and melting wires. Teague swore a most unmonastic oath under his breath.
Something had gone awry in the atmospheric deceleration. Whether it was the loose protective shield or some equipment malfunction, perhaps overstressed by the unexpected turbulence of Incendra's atmosphere, Teague didn't know. It mattered little. Repairs could be made and a computer diagnostic run later—if they survived.
His thoughts turned fleetingly to Raina. What would she find in the hold where the rear starboard panel was? He didn't want her there—the danger was indeed great— but there was no other choice. He couldn't leave the helm. There was nothing more he could do but attempt to break their downward trajectory and achieve a stable gliding pattern in the upper atmosphere. It was too late to continue with their original plan. Too late, and pointless, at any rate.
Teague only prayed that Raina could make the repairs quickly. If there truly was a radiation leak into the hold, the less exposure she suffered, the better. He only hoped the shields had held well enough to prevent any kind of leak.
The severe downward angle of the ship's nose failed to respond to the flight computer. They plummeted toward the ground, the heat sensors clanging in alarm. Desperately, Teague programmed an override command. The secondary guidance system took over. Grasping the yoke, the monk hauled back with all his strength.
For the longest, most sickening span of seconds, nothing happened. The spy ship continued on its fatal course, the overloaded forward thrusters screaming in protest. Then, miraculously, the bedlam seemed to change in tone, lessen in volume and intensity. Just as miraculously, the ship's steep angle of descent began to level out.
The monk maintained his death grip on the yoke, unwilling to believe what his flight computer was telling him. "Angle of descent eighty degrees nose low seventy-five . . . sixty . . . forty-five . . . thirty . . . fifteen ...
"Zero."
With a groan, Teague pushed the yoke forward to maintain a level course before they headed back upward. The craft steadied, straightened. He shut down the forward thrusters, checked the control panel for signs of any significant damage. Blessedly, there was little. The navigation system appeared to have suffered the most destruction.
Thanks to the damaged navigation system, though, the autopilot was now nonfunctional. Teague programmed an override control lock to maintain steady flight, released his safety harness, and stood. His knees wobbled as relief made him momentarily lightheaded.
They'd barely survived, that Teague well knew, but they had survived. Or at least, he had. He'd yet to see how Raina had fared.
He quickly headed through the cockpit hatch and down the corridor. The hold's floor panel had slammed shut, probably during all the turbulence. It was probably for the best. If there'd been a radiation leak, it had remained contained in the hold.
Teague halted at the computerized wall panel and programmed a demagnetization command. The lights flashed ran through the sequence, then extinguished.
"Demagnetization sequence
"I think the rear starboard shield is loose," Raina cried. "I'm going in through the hold to check it out!"
"No!" the monk roared. "It's too dangerous. If the panel's loose or damaged the heat, not to mention the electromagnetic radiation, can get in. It could kill you!"
"And so will burning up in the atmosphere if I don't fix it," Raina shouted back. "We don't have any choice in this, Tremayne, and you know it. I'm here and you're not."
"Don't!" Teague bellowed. "Don't do it!"
Raina hesitated an instant longer, then released the intercom button. Turning, she made her unsteady way down to the end of the corridor and the floor panel that opened into the hold.
Six
The computer panel flashed in a dizzying array of colors. Monitors sounded alarms. A terminal exploded, filling the cockpit with the scent of smoke and melting wires. Teague swore a most unmonastic oath under his breath.
Something had gone awry in the atmospheric deceleration. Whether it was the loose protective shield or some equipment malfunction, perhaps overstressed by the unexpected turbulence of Incendra's atmosphere, Teague didn't know. It mattered little. Repairs could be made and a computer diagnostic run later—if they survived.
His thoughts turned fleetingly to Raina. What would she find in the hold where the rear starboard panel was? He didn't want her there—the danger was indeed great— but there was no other choice. He couldn't leave the helm. There was nothing more he could do but attempt to break their downward trajectory and achieve a stable gliding pattern in the upper atmosphere. It was too late to continue with their original plan. Too late, and pointless, at any rate.
Teague only prayed that Raina could make the repairs quickly. If there truly was a radiation leak into the hold, the less exposure she suffered, the better. He only hoped the shields had held well enough to prevent any kind of leak.
The severe downward angle of the ship's nose failed to respond to the flight computer. They plummeted toward the ground, the heat sensors clanging in alarm. Desperately, Teague programmed an override command. The secondary guidance system took over. Grasping the yoke, the monk hauled back with all his strength.
For the longest, most sickening span of seconds, nothing happened. The spy ship continued on its fatal course, the overloaded forward thrusters screaming in protest. Then, miraculously, the bedlam seemed to change in tone, lessen in volume and intensity. Just as miraculously, the ship's steep angle of descent began to level out.
The monk maintained his death grip on the yoke, unwilling to believe what his flight computer was telling him. "Angle of descent eighty degrees nose low seventy-five . . . sixty . . . forty-five . . . thirty . . . fifteen ...
"Zero."
With a groan, Teague pushed the yoke forward to maintain a level course before they headed back upward. The craft steadied, straightened. He shut down the forward thrusters, checked the control panel for signs of any significant damage. Blessedly, there was little. The navigation system appeared to have suffered the most destruction.
Thanks to the damaged navigation system, though, the autopilot was now nonfunctional. Teague programmed an override control lock to maintain steady flight, released his safety harness, and stood. His knees wobbled as relief made him momentarily lightheaded.
They'd barely survived, that Teague well knew, but they had survived. Or at least, he had. He'd yet to see how Raina had fared.
He quickly headed through the cockpit hatch and down the corridor. The hold's floor panel had slammed shut, probably during all the turbulence. It was probably for the best. If there'd been a radiation leak, it had remained contained in the hold.
Teague halted at the computerized wall panel and programmed a demagnetization command. The lights flashed ran through the sequence, then extinguished.
"Demagnetization sequence
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