Within seconds he began to feel the warmth as he entered the region where a few air molecules began to brush over the surfaces of his ship. He rotated the delta-wings full, but there was no response. He was not yet deep enough into the sea of air for the control surfaces to react. He watched the tips of the wings, so ridiculously close to him, though he knew he would not be able to see anything. Soon he began to feel a gentle bucking motion as the wings met resistance. He flattened them out, horizontal, and began to draw them up again slowly, so they would move the tiny ship upward instead of simply tearing off at the roots. The heat was already uncomfortable, and he was slowing. Now he was pressed forward against the seat belt as deceleration increased. The control surfaces bit into the thin air more solidly now, and Cressey thought the nose had come up a bit, but it was so slight he couldn't be sure. The bucking motion was more pronounced, but there was nothing he could do about that. Slowly, slowly. The wings had to tilt so very slowly, or they would be ripped from the pod-like hull, leaving it to plummet into thick air and glow briefly like a cigarette in the dark before it plunged down to earth. His face was wet behind the fish-bowl, but he could not reach it to wipe the sweat away. Nor could he have taken his hands away from the controls in any case. The nose had come up, he was certain of that now. He was definitely rising, but the heat was becoming unbearable. Imperceptibly, a thin shrieking had arisen in the cabin, almost out of sonic range, just enough to make a man's nerves feel as if they had been dragged across a rough file. The heat transmitted through the body of the pod and into the bucket was beginning to burn his legs. He was being held out of the seat itself by the force of his deceleration, but the backs of his calves still touched metal. He thought he could smell the fabric of his suit burning, but realized it was probably his overwrought imagination. His cheeks felt too large, puffed out, as though strong, implacable hands were pulling all his loose flesh forward. His eyes strained forward, threatening to come out of their sockets. The red haze began, and he had a sudden frightening thought that he might lose consciousness before the Hornet had well begun its rise out of atmosphere. The red darkened into black. He regained consciousness. The first skip had been made. The ship began to settle back into atmosphere again, and now its speed was lower. With each pass the heat would become more intense, as the plane would not have a chance to cool completely before it began to heat again. He had to maintain a delicate balance between going deep enough to slow him, but not so deep he couldn't bring the ship up before it burned, cherry-red. His body was drenched as by a shower, and the inner lining of his suit felt soggy from sweat.