And then it leveled off, engines purring, everything as normal as a commuter flight.

Zavgorodny was staring at Jamie. The co-pilot glanced back over his shoulder. And Jamie understood. They were ragging him. He was the new kid on the block and they were seeing if they could scare him. Their own little version of the Vomit Comet, Jamie said to himself. See if they can make me turn green, or get me to puke. Much fun.

Every tribe has its initiation rites, he realized. He had never been properly initiated as a Navaho; his parents were too Anglicized to allow it. But these guys are going to make up for that.

Jamie made himself grin at Zavgorodny. "That was fun," he yelled, hoping that the other three could hear him over the engines and the wind. "I didn’t know you could loop an old crate like this."

Zavgorodny bobbed his head up and down. "Not recommended. Maybe the wings come off."

Jamie shrugged inside the seat harness. "What’s next?"

"Muzhestvo."

They flew peacefully for another quarter-hour or so, no aerobatics, no conversation. Then Jamie realized they had made one wide circling turn and were starting another. He looked out the window. The ground below was flat and empty, as desolate as Mars except for a single road running straight across the brown barren wasteland.

Zavgorodny unbuckled his safety harness and stood up. He had to crouch slightly because of the low overhead as he stepped out into the aisle and back toward the big wide-open hatch.

Jamie turned and saw that the other cosmonaut was on his feet, too, and standing at the hatch.

Christ, one lurch of this crate and he’ll go ass over teakettle out the door!

Zavgorodny stood beside the other man with one hand firmly gripping a slim metal rod that ran the length of the cabin’s ceiling. They seemed to be chatting, heads close together, nodding as if they were at their favorite bar holding a casual conversation. With ten thousand feet of empty air just a step away.

Zavgorodny beckoned to Jamie, gestured him to come up and join them. Jamie felt a cold knot in his stomach. I don’t want to go over there. I don’t want to.

But he found himself unbuckling the seat harness and walking unsteadily toward the two near the open hatch. The plane bucked slightly, and Jamie grabbed that overhead rod with both fists.

"Parachute range." Zavgorodny pointed out the hatch. "We make practice jumps here."

"Today? Now?"

"Yes."

The other cosmonaut had pulled a plastic helmet onto his head. He slid the tinted glass visor down over his eyes, yelled something in Russian, and jumped out of the plane.

Jamie gripped the overhead rod even tighter.

"Look!" Zavgorodny yelled at him, pointing. "Watch!"

Cautiously Jamie peered through the gaping hatch. The cosmonaut was falling like a stone, arms and legs outstretched, dwindling into a tiny tan dot against the deeper brown land so far below.

"Is much fun," Zavgorodny hollered into Jamie’s ear.

Jamie shivered, not merely from the icy wind slicing through his lightweight shirt.

Zavgorodny pushed a helmet into his hands. Jamie stared at it. The plastic was scratched and pitted, its red and white colors almost worn off completely.

"I’ve never jumped," he said.

"We know."

"But I…" He wanted to say that he had just had the stitches removed from his side, that he knew you could break both your legs parachute-jumping, that there was absolutely no way they were going to get him to step out of this airplane.

Yet he put the helmet on and strapped it tight under his chin.

"Is easy," Zavgorodny said. "You have done gymnastics. It is on your file. Just land with knees bent and roll over. Easy."

Jamie was shaking. The helmet felt as if it weighed three hundred pounds. His left hand was wrapped around that overhead rod in a death grip. His right was fumbling along the parachute harness straps, searching blindly for the D-ring that would release the chute.

Zavgorodny looked quite serious now. The plane was banking slightly, tilting them toward the open, yawning hole in the plane’s side. Jamie planted his feet on the metal flooring as solidly as he could, glad that he had worn a sturdy pair of boots.

The Russian took his right hand and placed it on the D-ring. The metal felt cold as death to Jamie.

"Not to worry," Zavgorodny shouted, his voice muffled by Jamie’s helmet. "I attach static line to overhead. It opens chute automatically. No problem."

"Yeah." Jamie’s voice was shaky. His insides were boiling. He could feel sweat trickling down his ribs even though he felt shivering cold.

"You step out. You count to twenty. Understand? If chute has not opened by then, you pull ring. Understand?"

Jamie nodded.

"I will follow behind you. If you die I will bury you." His grin returned. Jamie felt like puking.

Zavgorodny gave him a long probing look. "You want to go back and sit down?"

Every atom in Jamie’s being wanted to answer a fervent "Yes!" But he shook his head and took a hesitant, frightened step toward the open hatch.

The Russian reached up and slid the visor over Jamie’s eyes. "Count to twenty. Slowly. I will see you on ground in two minutes. Maybe three."

Jamie swallowed hard and let Zavgorodny position him squarely at the lip of the hatch. The ground looked iron-hard and very, very far below. They were in shadow, the overhead wing was shading them, the propeller too far forward to be any danger. Jamie took that all in with a single wild glance.

A tap on his shoulder. Jamie hesitated a heartbeat, then pushed off with both feet.

Nothing. No motion. No sound except the thrum of wind rushing past. Jamie suddenly felt that he was in a dream, just hanging in emptiness, floating really, waiting to wake up safe and somehow disappointed in bed. The plane had disappeared somewhere behind and above him. The ground was miles below, revolving slowly, not getting noticeably closer.

He was spinning, turning lazily as he floated in mid-air. It was almost pleasant. Fun, nearly. Just hanging in nothingness, separated from the entire world, alone, totally alone and free.

It was as if he had no body, no physical existence at all. Nothing but pure spirit, clean and light as the air itself. He remembered the old legends his grandfather had told him about Navaho heroes who had traveled across the bridge of the rainbow. Must be like this, he thought, high above the world, floating, floating. Like Coyote, when he hitched a ride on a comet.

He realized with a heart-stopping lurch that he had forgotten to count. And his hand had come off the D-ring. He fumbled awkwardly, seeing now that the hard baked dry ground was rushing up to smash him, pulverize him, kill him dead, dead, dead.

A gigantic hand grabbed him and nearly snapped his head off. He twisted in mid-air as new sounds erupted all around him. Like the snapping of a sail, his parachute unfolded and spread above him, leaving Jamie hanging in the straps floating gently down toward the barren ground.

His heart was hammering in his ears, yet he felt disappointed. Like a kid who had gone through the terrors of his first roller-coaster ride and now was sad that it had ended. Far down below he could see the tiny figure of a man gathering up a dirty-white parachute.

I did it! Jamie thought. I made the jump. He wanted to give out a real Indian victory whoop.

But the sober side of his mind warned, You’ve still got to land without breaking your ankles. Or popping that damned incision.

The ground was really rushing up at him now. Relax. Bend your knees. Let your legs absorb the shock.

He hit hard, rolled over twice, and then felt the hot wind tugging at his billowing chute. Suddenly Zavgorodny was at his side pulling on the cords, and the other cosmonaut was wrapping his arms around the chute itself like a man trying to get a ton of wrapping paper back inside a box.