My Own Kind of Freedom, page 139 by Steven Brust
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at? Was he really out of ways to kill time?
No, he could look over the plans again, and re-check the route, especially the final approach. He'd only been over it four times so far, and only once cross-checking it with the weather report.
He checked the time, and found that it was less than five minutes until launch. His palms were suddenly moist, and his mouth dry. That was all right, though; he'd be fine when it was time to launch.
13:15
The pilot was already in place, but no one else was, so he could choose his seat.
"Welcome aboard, welcome aboard," said the one called Wash, turning in his chair. "Passengers are advised to strap down for their own safety, and, as always, we remind you that Washburn Passenger Service is not responsible for lost luggage, air-sickness, or suddenly exploding into fiery ruin."
The first mate was in next; she kissed the pilot, squeezed his shoulder, and sat down next to him. The captain and the mercenary came in last; the captain took a position near the door.
"Is it time?" he asked.
"About a minute," said the pilot. "And, not to be painfully obvious, but you should all make sure you're strapped in good." Then he stabbed a button. "Kaylee, open us up."
"Copy," came her voice.
A moment later, the pilot spoke again. "Kaylee?"
"Still here."
"Open us up, Kaylee."
"But . . . oh. That was the other one. There you go."
"Thank you, Kaylee."
"Good luck, all of you."
"Disengaging in three . . . two . . . one . . . free."
There was a mild jolt, a drop, and Kit was shoved back into his chair.
Okay, Kit, my boy. You're in it now.
There was a faint whirring sound as the wings deployed, and they settled into the flight. He wiped his hands on his pants. The flight was scheduled to last just over twenty-six minutes. And end very abruptly.
He put his hand on the buckle that would release his restraints.