Article 23 Read Free Page B

slightly dizzy, he turned to look straight back up and closed his eyes for a minute.
    "Acceleration is complete. Please feel free to get up out of your seats," the computer announced. "If you should feel hungry, refreshments are being served on the bottom deck."
    Justin gulped hard and waited for a moment but his stomach didn't give any signs that it wanted to rebel. He looked over at the gravity meter on the computer screen. As the ear climbed farther away from Earth, gravity would slowly drop away to only a fraction of surface gravity at the top of the tower. But the car would slowly continue to accelerate, holding at a steady 2 gee until final deceleration.
    "Let's get some grub and watch the show down below," Brian said.
    Matt, feeling a bit shaky, followed them over to the small spiral staircase rather than wait for the elevator. They went down the three levels to the bottom floor of the car, and as they stepped out Matt gasped in surprise. The floor was covered in plexishield , and the bottom cover had been retracted. Earth, now nearly three thousand kilometers away, was visible directly below his feet.
    He stood there for a moment, absolutely amazed by the view. The entire sphere of the Earth was now visible, filling up most of space below, as was the long thin needle of the tower going straight down until it simply disappeared from view.
    Matt shook his head and moved to join Brian at a table in the corner of the room but Justin found that he wasn't hungry at the moment. He was far more interested in watching Earth as it slowly dropped away.
    The first-timers stood around like him, looking down, some of them nervous, others excited, while the old hands at space travel picked up the snack which was being served out by a ' bot and headed back up to their more comfortable seats on the main decks. Justin finally wandered over to join his friends and settled down into a reclining chair beside the table, ignoring the sardonic grins of Matt and Brian over his concession to the gee pull.
    "A cadet has to look like an old hand whether he is or not," Brian said dryly. "Even if the sun should go supernova, don't get excited and don't stand there gaping like a tourist."
    "Can't help it," Justin answered quietly. "It's just that the view is so incredible."
    "You've seen it from the Academy all summer long."
    "Yeah, I know. But just think, this tower is anchored on the ground and goes up thirty-seven thousand kilometers. It's incredible that we're riding on it. Sort of like we're still attached somehow to back down there. And besides, it's beautiful to look at."
    Brian laughed softly and shook his head.
    "You'll get over it."
    "I hope I never do," Justin replied, looking Brian straight in the eyes.
    A thin smile creased Brian's face.
    "After it's scared you a couple of times it might not be so beautiful anymore," he said.
    "Even then, I hope I don't forget how to look at it the way I am right now," Justin insisted.
    "Ah, a poet here," Matt interjected with a laugh.
    Brian shook his head.
    "Plebes. Thank heavens I've grown beyond it."
    Relaxing in the chair Justin half-listened to the stories Brian and Matt swapped back and forth, with Matt holding the upper hand when it came to yarns about his life as a solar sailor. The gee-load gradually lulled him into a stupor, and through half-closed eyes he wondered how Matt, who had grown up in a zero-gee environment, was handling it. His friend was obviously putting on a show of bravado in front of Seay , straining to remain upright. Over a cup of coffee Brian launched into another story, and Justin felt himself drifting away.
    "All passengers please return to your seats for deceleration and docking with sky tower station."
    Justin looked up, amazed that the hours had passed so quickly.
    Matt and Brian gulped down their drinks and started back up to the main deck area with Justin tagging along. As they settled back in their chairs Brian and Matt were already into a boasting war as to which