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empty highball for emphasis as he pounded the call button.
    Uh oh , Marcy Cannon thought. She could sense the potential troublemakers, but this one was pretty obvious. She did her best to politely wave the man down. Leaving her seat as re-entry g-forces mounted was a patently bad idea.
    But this gentleman was clearly too important to respect the laws of either safety or physics. Unrelenting, he waved his glass expectantly as he sounded the attendant chime again, and finally began shouting for good measure.
    Bracing herself, she put on her best professional smile and unbuckled the four-point seatbelt. Feels like about one G—I’ve got maybe a minute, she thought, and briskly made her way down the aisle.
    “Can I help you, sir?”
    “About damned time! What does it take to get a refill around here?” he demanded. She detected a slight accent, Australian or maybe Cockney Brit.
    “You’ll have to wait until we’re back in suborbital cruise, sir,” she replied agreeably while gently removing the highball from his hand. There was precious little time for conversation.
    “For what I paid for this seat, you’ll get me a drink whenever the hell I want.”
    “Sir, you also signed a safety consent which clearly stated that service is not possible during boost or re-entry,” Marcy said as she gestured towards the orange plasma trail swirling past his window. “We announced that twice.”
    “Then give me my glass back!” he sputtered.
    This guy had to be half in the bag, all right. “Sorry sir. Drink service is not allowed during re-entry due to the sudden changes in felt gravity,” she explained firmly and slipped the highball into a pouch by her hip. “Neither is glassware. It’s a hazard to you and your fellow passengers.”
    As if on cue, she steadied herself against a ceiling handhold as her knees began to buckle under the increasing force. They were pulling nearly two g’s now; she had to get back to her seat fast before it would plaster her to the floor.
    Using reason had only made him more irritable, but he was at least less inclined towards wild gestures now that gravity was building up. “Do you have any idea who I am, young lady? I’m not about to use those silly-assed sippy cups like some bratty kid,” he argued.
    “I’m afraid we’ve not formally met. And until you can learn to control your language around a lady, you’ll just have to stay thirsty,” she said with an icy Charleston drawl. “Now if you don’t settle down fast , I’ll be forced to advise the Captain of your behavior. He will have you escorted off the spacecraft as soon as we land in Denver, and I can assure you TSA won’t care who you are. Neither will your cellmates.”
    With that, Marcy made for her seat as the color rushed from the man’s face. She couldn’t be certain if it was from the rapidly building g-forces or just plain embarrassment.
    …
     
    “Bottoming out fast,” Ryan said. “Back down to three g’s, skin temp twelve hundred.” They had settled into the high stratosphere and were flying level, riding their own shock wave one hundred sixty thousand feet above the ocean.
    “And the engine nacelles?” Tom asked.
    “Getting hot. Sixteen hundo at the inlets. Fuel flow is three-fifty per minute. M-dot’s hovering around point eight-three,” he said, referring to the delicate balance of exhaust gas flow.
    Tom grimaced; he’d have to fine-tune them quickly. The next few seconds would determine whether they’d glance off the atmosphere for Denver or make a precautionary landing in Hawaii.
    A critical range-extending maneuver, the skip and re-boost out of the atmosphere demanded precise technique and so was typically left to the Flight Management Computers - a fully integrated navigation and engine control system. If mismanaged now, the engines could overheat or flame out, either of which demanded an early re-entry and landing. Worse, they could “unstart” as shock waves from the inlets blew back outward. It