Tom knew the punch line, but took her bait anyway. “It’s like a jet engine.”
Penny finished for him. “It sucks and blows.”
“How’s everything back in Houston, anyway?” he asked with some concern, slightly changing the subject. They were accustomed to socializing in short bursts between talking shop.
“Life on the opposite side of the clock. You know how it is,” she replied with a cocked eyebrow that said far more than her words let on.
Tom certainly did know. He sometimes had barely kept his own family together over the years, which wasn’t helped by a pilot’s lifestyle. Gone for days at a stretch, crossing time zones by the fistful, they’d return to their families in a narcoleptic-zombie state. In the end, time could not be denied and took its toll on everyone. “Tell you what. I can catch up to Ryan later. He’s big enough to look after himself, even goes to the bathroom on his own now,” he said with a sly grin.
“Meet you upstairs, then?”
…
Tom spotted her in a far corner of the cafeteria, staring out the window while idly turning a cup of black coffee in her hands. Outside, the clouds had broken enough to reveal the sun setting behind the Rockies. Her mind clearly elsewhere, she barely noticed him work through the crowded room and slide into the booth. He sat there quietly for a few moments as she tapped idly at her cup.
“Sorry,” she sighed, finally acknowledging him. “I’m still sorting out a lot of things in my head. It’s been quite a day, you know?”
“Actually, I don’t,” he said. “Want to tell me about it?” Penny usually wasn’t one to beat around the bush.
She gazed down and sipped from her mug. “Not entirely sure I know. Joe’s been real distant lately, and when he’s not he’s just…punchy. On a tripwire. I suppose it’s always been there under the surface since I came here, but it’s really gotten bad in the last few months. I don’t even know how to talk to him anymore.”
“You guys have been together, what, two years?” Tom asked rhetorically. He’d been at the wedding, after all.
“What’s your point?”
“Look, I don’t want to sound like a shrink...” he began tentatively. Penny shot him a skeptical look in response.
“...but I’m going to anyway,” he continued. “You both came into this widowed.”
“Dan had been gone a long time,” she protested. “And we both knew the risks,” she said, reciting NASA’s party line.
“And until now, Joe’s only known you as a semi-retired astronaut,” Tom interjected. “He wasn’t there when you were working eighty-hour weeks just to get noticed.”
She was forced to concede that point. A well-kept secret of astronaut life had been that far too many overachievers were funneled into too few opportunities for an actual mission, which made for brutal competition over the most trivial assignments. After her husband’s death aboard Orion, Penny stayed around just long enough to help wind down the program and had finally left at Tom’s behest.
Penny nodded in silent agreement. “I’m gone half the time and he’s left holding the bag. Maybe he’s wondering what comes next and doesn’t like the answer,” she thought, letting the idea hang for a moment as she absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair. “I’m home for a week at a time. You’d think we’d be able to make the most of that. It’s gotten to where I can’t wait to get back to work, but can’t leave because things are…unfinished,” she lamented. “I either want to take a stick to him or sashay through the front door naked just to get his attention. Depends on what kind of mood I’m in.”
Tom considered her remarks in silence, apparently for longer than he’d realized.
“Hello! You still with me?” she asked, slightly annoyed.
“Couldn’t help but think about my own problems a while back,” he said, looking up in embarrassment. “And I’m afraid people will get the wrong idea,” he added self-consciously.
“I never knew!” she laughed, and fluttered a hand in front of her face. “Sorry pal, you’re too old for me. But you’re right, I know how this place can be,” she said with a conspiratorial look over her shoulder. They used to get a kick out of fabricating wild stories just to see how long it would take the rumors to get around the company. “Your record is what, three days?” she asked with a smile, having the same thought. “The one that had everyone thinking Hammond was going to sell the company back to Leo Taggart? The union got pretty worked up over that one.”
“Art sure went on the warpath,” he replied with his own wily grin. “Wasn’t much choice but to own up to it. If we hadn’t just started proving flights I’d probably be hauling rubber chickens for some fly-by-night freight dogs.”
“Art also knows you’re not exactly a big union guy,” she said, leaning back and gulping down the last of her coffee. Their seniority rules were the sole reason Tom hadn’t been appointed chief pilot as soon as the Clippers had gone into service. “Back to the subject, or would you rather eat?”
“Eat. Not long until I have to fly,” he said, checking his watch as a waitress finally appeared. It was apparently a busy evening for everyone.
…
As they traded stories, another man strode briskly down the long corridor outside. Other hurried workers perfunctorily stepped aside as he passed. Crisply dressed, he habitually swept a thumb around the waistband of his trousers. Arthur Hammond turned the corner and ended his walk at a set of double doors leading to the flight control center, his traditional last stop of each day.
Hammond immediately noticed the room carried a low but steady rumble of conversation, the only indication that the route system was falling into disarray. Running an airline—spaceline, he kept correcting himself—was an exercise in chaos management, much more so than manufacturing had ever been. He’d frequently compared it to playing chess, except that as soon as you arrange the pieces some idiot kicks the board over and announces a rule change.
With that in mind, he made his way to the manager’s station and looked over the consoles. No internal phone lines lit up, no outstation lines lit, no aircraft calls. Wow. That can’t be right, he thought. “What’s going on, Charlie? Anything I need to know about?”
Grant swiveled about in his chair. “Plenty, but nothing that can’t wait,” he answered with a knowing look. “The front that blew through here is going to be screwing up the Northeast corridor tomorrow morning. There’s a nasty little system forming over Europe, and we’ve got one bird still down for maintenance. We’ll be scraping each other off the ceiling by midnight.”
He knew Grant wasn’t kidding. The flight schedule ran like a tightly choreographed ballet, and it didn’t take many missteps to wreck the whole show. Broken aircraft, sick crewmembers, or bad weather could each create enough trouble on their own. The problem was they had a tendency to all converge at once.
Hammond took another look around, appreciatively gauging the activity. “So if you’re on top of things, what makes you think I’m staying out here?” he jabbed. “I have to cut the cord with you sometime.”
Grant rolled his eyes. “And I’ve got some beachfront property down in Pueblo to sell you. Whose cord needs cut there, boss? You’re the one who should be going home right now—or taking care of the pile of crap in your inbox,” he goaded, pointing back down the hall towards his office. “Penny’s in tonight to babysit us, we’ll be fine.”
Hammond nodded glumly in defeat. Grant had him dead to rights as usual. “Good point. Where the hell is Stratton, anyway? I’m not paying her to schmooze with her buddies.”
“Last I heard she was down in crew ops, schmoozing away,” Grant laughed. “That’s okay…it keeps those guys off our backs up here. Give yourself a break and get lost, Arthur.”
“All right, I’m going,” Hammond said, waving his hands in surrender. Much as he enjoyed the energy of the control center, his real job had to come first. That so much activity occurred after hours made it all the more difficult for him to pull back. His ultimate responsibili
ty was for the entire company to run safely and on time, and he was continually surprised at how often those two goals seemed at odds with each other.
…
In a corner room off of the cavernous hangar floor, Walt Donner waited for an avionics technician to finish testing the balky engine controls.
“Can’t find a thing wrong with it,” the young man said nonchalantly, studiously turning the module over in his hands as he emerged from the test cell. He was Asian, fresh out of school by the looks of him, but the Aviation Electronics field tended to attract the younger techno-geek types. “Good current, normal resistance, logic and bit checks are perfect. I cleaned up a little crud on the chips, but that’s all. Your problem’s somewhere else, bro.”
That drew a derisive laugh. “You ain’t kidding! Knew damn well I’d just end up signing it off as ‘could not duplicate’,” he groused.
The technician agreed. “I don’t doubt something’s going on here but it’s not showing up on my rig, and I bench-tested it eight ways from Sunday. If it has the same problem in flight, it’ll just be the next station’s problem to solve, right? Which gets you off the hook,” he offered in consolation.
“If we can’t find nothing wrong, then it ain’t our fault anyway.”
“Didn’t know we were getting blamed for anything, Walt.” He was notorious for taking work problems personally.
Donner was oblivious to the rebuke and continued ranting. “I swear these birds were made by wizards or something. Same reason nobody can work on their own damned cars anymore. Who knows if those dumbass pilots even configured the switches right in the first place?”
“Okay Walt,” he said coolly, carefully showing no reaction since it was clear Donner’s mood wasn’t improving. “I’ll go finish the paperwork so you can be on your way. Anything else?” he asked, hoping there wouldn’t be any wild goose chases.
Donner wiped his hands and sighed. He appeared drained. “Nah, I’ll just re-install the piece of crap and sign it off. I’m still checking some plumbing in the back end, so if I don’t find anything else we’ll close her out.”
“You look whipped,” the younger man said as he slid the module back into its protective case. “Tell you what…don’t let me hold you up with nitpicky stuff. Go ahead and take it so you can get done, and I’ll bring the logbook back to you.”
For the first time in a long time, Donner looked pleasantly surprised. “Thanks Chen,” he said, taking the case and heading off for the main hangar.
…
“This had better be good news.”
“Relax, Leo. The package has been delivered.”
“And the enhancements we discussed?”
“Everything’s confirmed on-site. It will all be unwrapped tonight.”
“That is good news. You know we…”
The line disconnected before he could finish his sentence. Ungrateful pinheads.
6
Castle Rock, Colorado
Two days earlier
A gibbous moon hung low over the mountains as Tom pulled into his driveway, leading to a sprawling ranch home built of masonry walls and rough-hewn timber. After ending his last trip early, he had stayed for the night’s launches and watched the spaceplanes line up one by one to blast down the runway. He still couldn’t resist the urge to gawk when he heard them fly overhead, and was reminded of how he would joke about it with his wife: the day I stop looking is the day I hang all this up, he’d always said. Another thought had remained unspoken:
Who knows when it may be all I have left?
It was three A.M., and he lingered on their front porch to take in the cool autumn night for a few minutes before finally going inside. Still wound up from a whirlwind flying tour, it would likely be well after sunrise before he’d be ready for sleep.
Tom set his roller bag by the hall closet and hung up his overcoat, then flipped through the mail his wife had left on a table in the foyer. He was prone to forget about that sort of thing if she didn’t put it somewhere immediately obvious.
Finding nothing that warranted close attention at this time of night, he stepped softly across the open family room toward their bedroom. Elise was in a deep sleep, not stirring when he gingerly cracked open the door.
Good, he thought. She needs it. Better not surprise her right now. She knew he would have been up in Denver tonight but wouldn’t be expecting him home until much later. He planned to leave that surprise for morning and wake her with breakfast.
Slipping off his boots, he grimaced as they clunked onto the floor. His wife tended to be a light sleeper whenever he was away. She fortunately didn’t stir this time, so he went to put on a fresh pot of decaf in the kitchen. Grabbing a new Field and Stream from the stack of mail, Tom settled onto a plush leather sofa in the great room.
He was asleep within minutes.
7
Denver
Penny hopped up from the booth and grabbed their check. “Thanks for letting me ramble,” she said, then pointed at the counter. “I see your FO over there with that lost-puppy look, maybe you need to go retrieve him.”
Tom tossed a five for a tip and followed her across the room. “Hey Ryan,” he called, “gotten any better out there?”
“Nope,” his first officer grumbled. “The freight sort is being pushed back and the passenger hub’s a mess. The usual chatter about rerouting birds is turning into a dull roar,” he said, grabbing a sandwich and following them down to the briefing room.
“So no word from maintenance on that write-up yet?”
“Nothing,” Ryan said, exasperated. “Reckon we’ll find out soon enough if it’ll be the ‘cannot duplicate on ground’ song-and-dance.”
“Like taking your car to the shop,” Tom said dryly. “Works fine soon as they get under the hood.”
“What’s the story?” Penny asked, sensing trouble. “You guys have gripes on the way in?”
“Lost autothrottles in the skip again,” Tom explained as they turned a corner. “We were pretty heavy and had already diverted around weather out of Sydney, so there wasn’t much gas to play with.”
Penny frowned. “How close were you able to hold m-dot?”
“Close enough,” Tom said. “Touchy, but we kept it just inside the green band. Ryan babysat the gauges for me.”
“So thermal equilibrium was okay?”
“Well, at least the nacelles didn’t melt,” he said nonchalantly.
Ryan jumped back in at that. “Don’t let him BS you. It was brilliant airmanship, positively inspiring for a young lad like me.”
“Well, that’s just dandy,” she retorted. “But I’ve got to run this place tonight. Either you slackers are going to burn out your duty clock, or we get to recover your sorry asses with a sick plane. Way to go, part-timers.”
Ryan whistled. “Somebody’s jealous.”
“The fury of a woman scorned,” Tom said glibly. “This is how she always gets when she’d rather be flying.”
“You’re both a couple of wussies,” Penny said as she headed for the control center. “Leave it up to the girl to fix your mess.” She would never admit he was right.
…
“System Ops, Grant.” He pressed his headset to his ear, struggling to get information from a call full of background jet noise as he quickly scribbled notes. “Got it. Thanks.” One of their feeder airports had just reported another delayed flight. Three more lines were still blinking away, demanding his attention.
He punched the next line, from crew scheduling.
“Bad news, Charlie. We just had two crews call fatigue,” which meant they had officially declared themselves worn out and unsafe to fly.
“Where does that leave you for reserves?” he asked, masking his frustration. He couldn’t legitimately challenge them, but it was still another wrench thrown into the works.
“Short. We’ve got one crew left in the bullpen.”
They were getting stretched thin. “You’re going to need them, the way things are look
ing,” he thought aloud. “Anyone you can call in from their days off?”
“Not if they’re smart,” she replied. “If anyone’s home they’re not answering the phone. Soon as they see our caller ID, they ignore it. But I’ve got ways around that.”
He quickly deduced what she was up to. “You’re using your cell phone?”
“Catches them off guard when they don’t recognize the number,” she laughed. “But once they answer, I’ve got ‘em.” It wasn’t exactly playing fair, but their crews were paid generously for a short-notice call to work.
“That trick only works once, Liz. But you get points for creativity. Give me a shout once the fleet’s moving and see if we end up with any problems for tomorrow.” If the day’s flying ended too late, the crew’s mandatory rest would overlap with the next day’s trips which threatened to snowball into even more delays.
“Guarantee you we will. We’re ginning up bodies at the out-stations already. See ya,” she said and hung up.
He picked up the next line right away. “Good news?” he asked hopefully.
“Not hardly,” the dispatcher snorted. “Don’t know yet. Depends on what the freight doggies want to do. Right now they’re holding up the sort. Northeast weather’s still crap.”
Grant was at least able to offer some hope: “ATC desk got us priority slots for the northeast departures. Flow control knows we have to hit those boost corridors at the right time or we’ll catch hell from the tree-huggers.”
Noise had been one of the Clipper’s biggest obstacles. This had created some predictable hurdles among the authorities before Polaris could even think about putting them into service, with political haymaking liberally peppered throughout.
“501 is still down but it’s the only bird with any gripes. If maintenance control doesn’t have an answer in thirty minutes I’ll have them roll the hot spare out of the hangar,” the dispatcher explained. “Passenger loads are light at least.”
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