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their re-entry path, as if there might actually be conflicting traffic on the fiery glide down to eighty thousand feet.
    He gently rolled the plane back upright, lifting the nose for re-entry just as the first wisps of plasma formed around it. As it began steadily glowing from the heat, they felt a slight buffet as the craft slipped into the upper reaches of the atmosphere. He could feel the gathering air beneath, like settling a canoe onto a rushing stream.
    Gravity tugged much harder against them as they fell back into the atmosphere. Not as fast as coming out of orbit, it was still enough to create a tremendous amount of heat which stripped the oxygen atoms flying past. The ionized air prevented any radio traffic, compounding an already tense time. They were under maximum stress, with minimum control ability, and there was no way for anyone to know how they were doing.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain…I trust you all enjoyed our coast over the Pacific. You’ve noticed gravity is pulling you back into your seats, so please try to sit back and enjoy the light show outside during re-entry. We’ll be landing in Denver in about twenty minutes.”
    He replaced the intercom and peered outside, trying to pick out details below. As they approached California, Colorado emerged along the horizon. Just beyond were clouds flowing into a deep low-pressure system; a late-fall storm punctuated by columns of towering cumulus. “Looks bumpy down there,” he observed just as the plasma sheath became too bright to see through.
    Falling through two hundred thousand feet, they left a glowing trail for miles behind, sparkling against the early evening sky.

4
     
    Denver International Airport
     
    The Austral Clipper cast a faint orange glow along the pavement as it turned off the active runway and headed for the Polaris apron. Ramp crews in service trucks and hydraulic lifters carefully pulled up alongside, as close as they dared for now. It would be several minutes before the plane had cooled down enough for anyone to approach safely. Engines howled as it eased into its parking spot, as if protesting being shut down.
    The early evening air was laden with the scent of kerosene fuel. Above the parking gate, a clock counted down the remaining seconds until the plane would be safe to touch. A shrill horn sounded as it reached zero, though all the equipment stalking the plane hardly needed any more reason to pounce. Polaris staked its reputation on speed, and as such every second counted. Its fleet of Global Clippers was the pride of the line, indeed its main reason for existence.
    People of means with a need to cross the globe quickly were willing to pay a hefty price for the unique travel experience, and the demand was even greater for urgent freight. As ubiquitous as internet commerce had become, it could never replace “just-in-time” equipment. If people or hardware needed to be halfway around the world by the end of the day, Polaris was the only way to get there.
    Most of the time-critical freight had been rolled off of Austral Clipper long before the passengers could make their way into the terminal. A few stragglers were still searching for valuables that had floated away during their zero-gravity transit across the Pacific. Despite numerous warnings to “please secure all loose items,” someone was always losing a cell phone or piece of jewelry.
    Meanwhile, cleaning crews swarmed into the cabin after the other passengers had cleared out, rushing to make it shine like new for the next flight. As they worked, mechanics made their way back and forth between the jetway and cockpit. One harried young technician scrambled out the door and down an outside ladder towards a nearby maintenance shed, searching for a repair manual.
    That some paperwork would never go away seemed to be a universal constant, especially in the airline world.
    Tom was filling out their maintenance logbook, describing the problem they’d encountered