Virtual Destruction

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Gold, purple, and red streamers flowed across the airplane as it soared toward infinity, parting as the jet plowed through the multicolored atmosphere — in total silence.

Without a sound, the contour-enhanced streamers sluiced over the swept-winged aircraft, skimming smoothly down the fuselage, skating unaffected over well-burnished seams and rippling over precisely calculated angles.

“Can’t you get the speakers on, Gary?” Hal Michaelson demanded, standing on the clouds.

At the rear of the craft, the streamers lifted off the metal skin, curling up like psychedelic wood shavings, then tumbled together in a growing turbulent vortex wake behind the plane.

Suddenly a screeching, whistling howl roared past his ears, rattling his teeth. “Too damn loud!” Michaelson yelled to his deputy.

Outside the chamber, Gary Lesserec adjusted the volume. Michaelson could just picture him grinning with his stupid gee-whiz expression. “Yeah, but it’s impressive, Hal. The Air Force weenies will love it.” Lesserec’s voice came over a loudspeaker implanted in the wall.

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