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‘HERE YOU GO, Dr Carter. Your successful candidates.’
Corrine’s heart gave a little flutter at the sight of the four buff folders in front of her. This was one of the best parts of her job. Of the thousands of applications received from a wide range of people—both civilian and military—only a few were chosen for the intensive Astronaut Candidate Programme. She smiled and fingered the folders on her desk. These applicants had gone through weeks of intensive interviews and medical and psychological screening. As part of the medical team at the Worldwide Science and Space Agency, Corrine had already met some of the successful candidates.
‘Where am I going, then?’
Every candidate got told in person if they’d been successful by a member of the team at WSSA. She’d been here three years and had been waiting for the chance to do this. The training programme only accepted applications every few years.
Her secretary handed her the schedule. ‘California, Washington, Idaho and Nevada.’
Her colleague Blair stuck his head around the door. ‘You got yours too?’ He was carrying his folders in his arms. ‘Who did you get?’ He crossed the office in two strides and spread the folders out to see the names.
Almost immediately he started laughing.
‘What? What is it?’ Corrine looked at the names in front of her. Three were familiar to her. One was a civilian school teacher. One a marine. One an engineer. Blair picked up the last folder before she even had a chance to read the name.
‘You got the Top Gun? Good luck with him.’
She snatched the folder back out of his hand. ‘The Top Gun?’ She stared at the name, Austin Mitchell. There were so many candidates there was no chance of meeting them all. She frowned. ‘What’s wrong with Austin Mitchell, then?’ She opened his folder and started flicking through the pages. Distinction. Merit. Top scores on just about all his testing. The guy seemed more or less perfect.
Blair shook his head and laughed again. ‘You’ll see.’
* * *
Austin checked his instruments one final time and gave a cheeky smile.
‘Bates, don’t you dare,’ came over the intercom.
His laughter had already started. Some traditions would never die. He was already descending for landing—he just wasn’t exactly over the landing strip he should be.
‘Bates, I’m warning you...’
The adrenaline was coursing through his body—just as it always did when he got behind the controls of a plane. But this wasn’t just any plane. This was a brand-new prototype of the F-35. A modified stealth bomber. People wouldn’t even hear it coming until it was directly overhead. Including his colleagues in the control tower.
He gave a final check of his instruments—he was the only aviator in the sky right now. The way was clear.
As he positioned the plane he glanced around the surrounding area. There was a reason the Top Gun aviators trained in the middle of the Nevada desert. No one to disturb.
There was a little speck on the landscape ahead. A member of the military personnel headed towards the tower. He hoped they were prepared.
He manoeuvred the F-35 into perfect position. ‘He’s doing it again, folks. Hold onto your coffee cups.’ There was a resigned sigh over the intercom.
‘Yee-haw!’ he yelled as he passed twenty feet above the tower. Buzzing the tower was one of the perks of the job. Maybe not for them—but definitely for him. And if his luck played out the way he hoped it would, this could be his last time.
* * *
She was halfway up the stairs when the noise wave hit. The plane had passed overhead in the blink of an eye. They didn’t call them stealth bombers for nothing. Her fingers tightened their grip on the rail just as the whole building rattled and the noise washed over her.