Zero-G by Alton Gansky

practical.”
    Roos leaned forward. “More practical than you think. Spaceports are already being built. Last count, there were eighteen such efforts underway, including those in New Mexico, Alabama, Washington, Russia, Singapore, Tasmania, Australia, and Canada. Space tourism is almost here. I need someone like you to make sure we lead the pack.”
    â€œSo I just up and quit. Do you realize what you’re asking?”
    â€œI do and I can make it worth your while. If you agree, you’ll sit on our board of directors. I’ll arrange for you to sit on the board of a few other corporations linked to entrepreneurial space travel. Your income will be in the solid six figures.”
    â€œSo I sit in a boardroom from time to time?”
    â€œYou’ll do much more than that, Commander. You’ll work with our engineers developing innovative flight tech. You’d also be our public face. I don’t make a good spokesperson. I prefer the background.”
    â€œStill, I’d be flying a desk.”
    â€œWhich is pretty much what you’re doing now. However, you’ll do more than fly a desk, Commander. I want you to be our first pilot.”
    Tuck didn’t know whether to laugh or not. “You want me to fly a homemade spaceship? Into space?”
    â€œSuborbital at first, then orbital. And Legacy is hardly a homemade spaceship.”
    â€œAnd you think that comment should make me feel better?”
    â€œWhen you see it, you’ll know I’m right.”
    â€œI can’t decide if you’re mad or laboring under the self-delusion of genius.”
    â€œCommander, you know this can be done. It has been done. Burt Rutan’s company Scaled Composites won the X-Prize in 2004 by flying into space twice within fourteen days. SpaceShipOne reached three hundred twenty-eight thousand feet. Earned them ten million bucks. Michael W. Melvill was sixty-three when he reached space.”
    â€œI’m aware of all that, Mr. Roos, but I’m just not interested.”
    Roos pulled a card from his front pants pocket. Unlike most business cards, this one was made of plastic. “I hope you change your mind.”
    â€œI doubt I will.” Tuck took the card.
    â€œOh, one other thing. Lance Campbell signed on last week. You’re my choice for lead pilot, but if you decide to stay your course, then I’ll offer him the position.”
    â€œCampbell? You’re kidding, right?”
    â€œI know you two have a bit of history, but I figure you can work it out.”
    â€œHistory? Yeah, you might say we have history.”
    Roos smiled. “Odd, he said the same thing.”

SIX
    G rass had covered the gentle mound, its boundaries marked off by a border of flowers. A six-foot-high black marble monolith stood like a sentry over the spot, casting a long, thin shadow that bisected the manicured spot and fell upon the man who stood at the other end of plant-bounded ground.
    Had an observer been present, he would have seen no more movement from the man than the stone marker. Overhead, a coagulated bank of clouds stumbled across the sky. A churning breeze tugged at the man’s leather newsboy cap. The cap refused to yield its spot. The wind did manage to brush the white beard that hung from sagging cheeks and pointed chin.
    Protected by a black leather coat and thick corduroy pants, the man ignored the wind. Other images filled his mind. Images of a spaceship, of a man in a space suit, of a funeral.
    Vincent Pistacchia clenched his fists, released them, and then clenched them again as if each were a slowly pumping heart.
    It had been a year and more since they brought his son home from space, dead and cold. He arrived on Earth, not like the other astronauts, but in the cargo bay, his feet still strapped to that blasted mechanical arm.
    â€œAll dead but one.” He spoke to the grave as if its contents could hear and reply. “I told you flying was not the