As the Paris-bound jet began slowly backing out of its slot at Pearson International Airport, Trish Stacey felt a rush of pure adrenaline. Finally, the past few years of doing without a social life while shuffling part-time jobs and counting pennies in order to complete her education were done. She had a degree in economics plus her MBA, a spot on the short list for a job in the business loans division at one of the major Canadian banks, and now she was moving onward and upward. For the next three weeks, thanks to a small but timely win on a lottery ticket, she intended to forget about the late nights, early mornings, and everything else it had taken for her to reach this point, and simply let loose and have fun.

She'd been lucky enough to get a window seat, so whatever exciting adventures lay ahead for her once she arrived in Paris, for the next few hours she could sleep without fear of being stepped on or otherwise having her dreams interrupted. But, after checking to ensure her seatbelt was properly fastened, she felt the usual twinge of apprehension as the jet taxied its way into line for take-off.

A moment later, they were on the runway and, as the plane began to gather speed, she closed her eyes, clamped her fingers tightly around the armrests and prayed no one was watching her make a fool of herself. She wasn't scared of flying, it was just the take-offs and landings that bothered her-along with the million what-ifs that flashed through her mind, such as, what if the plane couldn't level off and kept going straight up into the stratosphere? Would they land on the moon, Mars, or would they be condemned to forever circle around and around in space until they ran out of fuel? And what if, when that happened, they-