Then the centrifuge arm started its slow rotation, a low whine building to a rhythmic hum as the steady voice of the tech filled my headset.
“Profile one. Three Gs for thirty seconds. You’re in control, Captain.”
“Copy that.”
I focused on the training that had been drilled into me for years. Breathe. Strain. Recover. The first spin felt easy, like slipping back into an old routine. My lungs expanded, themuscles in my thighs and core tightening to keep the blood flowing to my head.
“You’re doing great, Captain,” the tech said.
I made it to five Gs without a sweat. Piece of cake.
“Ready for profile two. Ramp to eight Gs” came the tech’s voice again.
I exhaled and reminded myself that Tate was alive. Monroe was waiting for me, and this was a machine I could handle. Hell, I’d been successful for years in the cockpit.
The pressure built, pushing me into the seat, compressing my chest until every breath felt like I was lifting weights under water. The digital display climbed. Six point five. Seven point eight. Each number a hammer blow to my ribs.
“Fight’s good, Captain,” the tech said. “Maintain strain.”
I tried to focus on the rhythm of my breathing technique, but my mind wouldn’t stay put. The walls were closing in.
“Captain, legs tight. Pull back on the stick. Breathe.”
I shook off the dizziness as the controls before me were spinning faster, harder. Suddenly, the cockpit tilted. Tate’s shout was swallowed by static.
“Callahan, stay with us,” came Pierce’s voice. “Counter strain. Breathe.”
I tried. Fuck, I tried. But the tunnel was closing fast. My vision was graying, and the world was narrowing to a pinhole of light.
Monroe’s pretty face flickered through the haze. The way she looked at me as if I was her everything.
I reached for that image like it could hold me steady.You will not G-LOC, Jace.
Eight point two Gs. Eight point five.
Suddenly, everything went black for seconds or maybe hours until a muffled voice cut through the darkness, keeping me from spiraling into the abyss.
“Captain Callahan,” someone shouted frantically through the headset, “stay with me.”
I blinked open my eyes, the controls swimming into focus as the centrifuge slowed. My skull pounded as my vision returned in patches. First shapes then colors.
“Are you with me, Captain?” came the tech’s voice.
I tried to speak, but my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. My hands trembled against the controls, and sweat ran down my back.
“Did I…” I swallowed hard, hating to even ask the question. “Did I G-LOC?”
The silence that followed was answer enough. Everything I’d worked for, everything I’d built my identity around was gone in eight point five seconds.
The doors hissed open, and a medic reached in and unstrapped me.
“I got this,” I managed to say, though my voice sounded foreign to me.
I flew a powerful machine, for fuck’s sake. Surely, I could handle getting out of the centrifuge. At least, I had to show Pierce I had all my faculties, although my mind was the one betraying me, at least this time.
The medic by the name of Hollister backed off as Pierce’s grim expression came into view. A chill tiptoed down my spine. He was the key to signing off on my orders to fly again.
“I didn’t black out,” I said to Pierce, removing my helmet before climbing out on unsteady legs.
