"It'll take several minutes," Kinsman answered. In his mind he pictured what was going on in the cockpit of the orbiter, and in the massive lifter beneath them.

Range safety?

Clear.

Main engine fuel pressure?

Green.

Life support systems?

All green.

Full internal power.

On.

Shuttle One, you are cleared for taxi.

Roger, Tower. One taxiing.

One-quarter throttle. And steer clear of the bumps on the ramp. Let's not shake up the passengers.

The muffled whine of the lifter's hydrogen turbine en- gines vibrated through the cabin's thick acoustical insulation. Kinsman felt the shuttle surge forward. Sitting in the heavily padded seat with nothing to look at but the gray curving walls of the cabin or the dead eye of the TV screen in front of him, Kinsman imagined himself sitting in the Command Pilot's 220 seat, nudging the throttles forward and handling the controls. The huge, cumbersome double-plane rolled out along the approach ramp and swung onto the five-kilometer-long run- way: a broad black road that reached to the horizon and the sky beyond.

Shuttle One, hold for final clearance.

One holding.

Range tracking Go.

Range safety Go.

Meteorology Go,

Mission control Go.

All systems green.

Shuttle One, you are cleared for takeoff.

Roger.

Give 'em a nice easy ride, Jeff.

Only way to fly!

Full takeoff flaps. Full throttle.