Curds and Whey Box Set

by G M Eppers

  I read it through a couple of times then left it open on the nightstand. I didn’t feel the need to unpack my bag into the dresser. Might as well check in with the Dean. Fingering my passkey on the lanyard around my neck, I left the room and headed down to the third floor.

  Long story short, Dean Bligh is a woman. Her full name, according to the door, is Jamila Bligh. She is of Middle Eastern descent with skin the color of latte. She wore her black hair in a short bob with outward curls on the end. I estimated her height at five foot six given that she was wearing flat soled sneakers. She also had on casual blue jeans and an oversized orange t-shirt that left one shoulder bare. It said, “I’m Guessing I’m No Good at Judgement Calls” across her ample breasts. It didn’t look to me like I was going to have to worry about strict. Her office was sparsely furnished, featured only one small window that looked out on the array of airplane hangars, and had no reception area at all. Her desk was at an angle to the doorway, with a phone, a lamp, a tiered IN/OUT box, and a desk blotter. The IN box was very full, but she smiled as I entered, meeting me at the door as if she knew exactly when I would arrive. “Welcome, Mr. Montana. Please, have a seat.”

  She closed the door behind me, then went and sat behind the desk, folding her hands on the top. “You’re here to qualify as a Transportation Specialist? Tell me why you decided on this specialty.”

  I think it would have been more impressive to come up with something about a sincere interest in helping my teammates and ensuring their safety in the field, but I decided to be completely honest. I was never fond of the word games people play. “I’ve already qualified for a leadership position, but I’ve developed a relationship with a teammate and we’re engaged to be married. As I’m sure you’re aware, that became a conflict of interest when our previous coordinator died last month.”

  “Your mother,” she said sadly.

  “Yes.” I didn’t let her get a word in to say how sorry she was for my loss. I’d had enough of that. “I had several choices, but all the other options involved either leaving the team or leaving my fiancée. Changing specialties made the most sense. When I looked through the course catalog, I saw Transportation Specialist, and with Defensive and Pursuit Driving already under my belt, I felt that would speed things up. I’m very anxious to get back to my team.” I hoped that didn’t sound too bad.

  “Are you aware this is a six week course?”

  I was not. And while I normally prefer honesty, I made an exception. “As I explained, I won’t need the full course. I’m prepared to take the qualifying tests for the CDL as soon as possible.”

  She leaned back in her chair, which rocked slightly and rolled backwards. “The CDL. That’s what you think you’re here for?” I bit my bottom lip. I guess I wasn’t fooling her. “You didn’t read the full description, did you?”

  “No, Ma’am,” I admitted. “I –“ I was going to explain myself, but she didn’t let me.

  “The Transportation Specialist Curriculum is divided into three sections,” she began as if by rote. “At this facility, we will be instructing you and your classmates on the first section: land travel. Everyone here has Defensive and Pursuit qualifications, Mr. Montana. It’s a prerequisite. But there are far more ways to get from point A to point B. You will gain familiarity with all of them and proficiency in as many as possible. You have two weeks. The next section will be taught at a facility located on a decommissioned aircraft carrier, where you will learn methods of travel both on the surface and underwater. The third section takes place at the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center where you will learn air travel. No, you will not become an astronaut. You will not ‘earn your wings.’” Here she raised her hands and made air quotes. “Unfortunately, there is a limit to how much we can instruct on the flying portion. The FAA has tight restrictions. We cannot award a full pilot’s license. But you will learn the basics, with emphasis on who and when to call for assistance. Basically, you learn how to understand instructions from a control tower. Do you have any questions?”

  I sat there stunned for a moment, but not disappointed or discouraged. The course sounded very interesting, and really six weeks didn’t seem all that long. Perhaps I’d be able to see the team in between sections. I only had one question. “What’s in the hangars?” Hangars were normally for airplanes, and as she had just explained, there weren’t any here.

  She glanced out the window. A single man was walking around the area. I guessed he belonged to the Hualapai tribe. The Academy compound is part of the Hualapai Reservation, and I would imagine that employing tribe members was part of the agreement. Husky, he wore his waist length hair in a long ponytail, tied with a colorful Native American ribbon. He picked up a 5-gallon pail by the wire handle and staggered slightly under its weight. Leaning to one side to offset the load, he used his free hand to open up an access door and disappeared inside the second hangar. Bligh saw me watching. “That’s classified,” she said. “But you’ll find out eventually. Orientation starts at 6, room 104. Don’t be late.”

  “Thank you.” I rose and shook her hand, then left.

  Chapter Five

  I decided to check out the facilities on the fourth floor. I learned quickly that everything was keyed to my passkey. In the cafeteria, I could select whatever I wanted and purchase it with my passkey. It would be charged to my personal CURDS card which the Academy had on permanent file. I got a bagel with jam and a small apple juice and bumped into Eliot who was having a salad. While we ate, he explained that the gym was free to use, but lockers and showers were accessed with the key, and in the common room I could use it as collateral to check out books or games. There would only be a charge if the items were not returned. Similarly, in the simulator rooms on the second floor, the passkey recorded all my sim time and performance information. Eliot encouraged me to spend as much free time as possible on the simulators. When I asked him what was in the hangars, he suddenly remembered an appointment and rushed out.

  In the common room, I met my classmates. There is a towhead named Evan Indiana from California. We bonded quickly over our inaccurate place names. Three women joined us as well. Marge Ko is a fifth generation American-Korean from Florida, Rachel Millworth is from Wales, and Norma Van Luxe is a Dutch German who, she told us, has lived on every continent at least one year of her life and currently holds citizenship in four different countries. The people you meet in this job. There were other students there for a total of about twenty people in the common room, watching TV, playing cards, or lounging and reading. This facility taught other specialties and elective courses as well as transportation. But it was my four classmates that I would spend the most time with.

  At 5:50, not wanting to be late, I went down to the first floor, meeting most of my classmates along the way. We each separately beeped our way through the door to the classroom area and easily found room 104. Dean Bligh and Eliot were both already there. Eliot, as it turned out, also served as a teaching assistant, so he was a TSTA, I suppose. He sat in a simple wooden chair facing the room while Dean Bligh sat casually on the front edge of the instructor’s desk. There were nine student desks facing them in three rows of three. I sat in the middle. Being tall, I made sure there were enough desks for the others that would be unobstructed by my head. There were no windows and the eggshell walls were free of the usual visual aids you might see in a classroom. Behind Bligh was the expected large chalkboard with partially used pieces of chalk in the dust tray.

  “Everyone’s on time. So far, you all have a passing grade,” Bligh joked. “As you all know, my name is Jamila Bligh. You can call me Jamila, or Dean Bligh, or J.B. If you have other suggestions, I’ll rule on those separately, but you will lose points with me with every Ma’am. Is that clear?” She stood and began strolling back and forth as she spoke. “This is Eliot, our T.A. You’ll be working with him quite a bit. Don’t worry. He hasn’t bitten anyone at all. This term. This course is called Transportation Specialist, which means when it is over you’ll have the skil
ls to get your team from point A to point B no matter where they are or where they are going. As you’ll see, it’s way more involved than calling a cab or picking the right subway line.

  “Before we begin, let’s get to know each other.” That was followed by each of us taking turns introducing ourselves. We took questions and generally had a party, minus the alcohol and chips. Orientation lasted ninety minutes. “Very good, everyone. Tomorrow we’ll begin CDL training. This is a concentrated course. I expect everyone to have full focus. We’ll spend the first week on motorized transportation and then move on. You’ll need to log fifty hours on the simulators before taking to the road.

  “A word about the simulators. You’re probably wondering already how we can certify a CDL in one week. Under standard instructional processes, that alone would take almost two months to complete. Thanks to recent advances in simulator technology, we’ve been able to accomplish the same proficiency, given this course’s prerequisites, in only one week. Our simulators employ 3D, VR, and TSI systems.”

  All our hands went up in the air and she chose me to ask the obvious question. “I’m sure we’re all familiar with 3D and VR, but I’ve never heard of TSI. What is that?”

  Dean Bligh turned it over to Eliot. “TSI stands for Targeted Sensory Input,” he explained without standing up. “Simply put, it’s even more immersive than standard VR. Sensors in the equipment enable you to feel every sensation you normally would on the road, in addition to programmed variations. It might, for example, decide you get a sudden itch in the sole of your foot. If you crash, you will initially feel some of the injuries, though no bodily damage will occur, before the program cuts out. This is essential for the accelerated course. These skills are based largely on reflexes and muscle memory. You learn by doing. Using the old system, there was no way to do this kind of intensive instruction safely. We don’t teach the rules of the road. You should already know all that. These skills involve high pressure situations that aren’t even wise to teach beyond theory in a normal setting. That slowed down the learning process. It created hesitation. This lets you repeatedly try to adapt your current defensive and pursuit driving skills to a larger variety of vehicles. If it seems too drastic to anyone, you are free to drop out at any time without repercussions. Any questions on this system?”

  He had explained it very well and there were no questions. Dean Bligh continued, “When you’ve got your fifty hours I’ll get a notification and then I will contact you. That’s fifty successful hours, by the way. Good luck and remember that I have an open door policy on my office. Either Eliot or myself will be there at any time of the day or night.”

  I was already doing the math in my head, realizing that we were basically going to have to live in the simulator room to log that many hours inside of a week, especially allowing for whatever unsuccessful meant. I certainly didn’t expect a perfect score. The ladies broke off from the group and headed for the second floor right away. Evan said he was going to take a shower and get a good night’s sleep. Before the elevator door closed, Norma told him it would be his last one for a while and to make sure it was a good one. I’m not sure if she meant the shower or the good night’s sleep.

  I went back up to my room and got out my phone to check in on the team. Avis answered my call. “Hey there, Loverboy. What’s the story?”

  I filled her in on the situation and that I wouldn’t be seeing them for at least two weeks. I still wasn’t clear on the timing of the other two sections, but there was no hurry to find out. It wouldn’t change anything and I needed to focus, like Dean Bligh said. “How did it go at the golf course? Did you bag some Uber?”

  I’m not sure, but I think Agnes answered me. They probably had the phone in between them and the acoustics were just very slightly different. Or it could have been that I shifted on the bed. “Nope. It’s weird. You see, there is a ton of golfing around this area, so the courses are very competitive. Better Edge’s arch nemesis is the Slippery Divots Golf Course owned by our old friends the Krochedy Brothers. Anyway, to attract business, Better Edge also has a miniature course, and their signature promotion is the 18th hole golf ball giveaway. You get a hole-in-one there you win a special collectible golf ball. The pro shop even has display cases for them. There’s a wobbly ball; an inflatable ball; a concrete ball; a “snow” ball, which is like a snow globe; an eye ball where all the dimples are exquisitely painted eyes; and a rare gold ball which I’m sure is just gold leaf but they treat it like it’s solid 24 karat. Badger has never golfed, but he says he’s taking it up. He wants a set of those balls. There’s a whole subset of ‘body’ balls that look like a brain, a heart, and other parts that he wants to get for Roger.” His boyfriend Roger, I remembered, works for the Smithsonian Institute’s Crime Lab. As the explanation went on, the acoustics were shifting again, so I knew the twins were taking turns, like they often did. I wished there was video because watching them do it is a sight to see.

  “Well,” one or the other of them continued, “the owner, Rachel Diamond, got in a shipment of balls that were made of cheese, and surprisingly cheese balls is not on their novelty list. But Nitro tested several of them and they all came up clean.”

  “Did Sir Haughty say what kind of cheese?” I wondered if another cheese pun was involved. I couldn’t think of one, and I didn’t want to be outdone.

  “Little Ypsi, he said. Made with goat’s milk. Do you think this is related to the moon rocks?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Could be. Different kinds of cheese, different sources, different disguise. Could just as easily be two goofballs with the same idea.” Little Ypsi is made in Michigan. The Sage Derby originated in England. Both could be shipped anywhere. So far. “Either way, it’s concerning. It took planning and it seems to be devised to circumvent the upcoming ban.”

  The twins finished my thought, “Which no one was supposed to know about until yesterday.”

  “Right. Have you reported the findings to Miss Chiff?”

  I heard a groan in stereo. It seemed our new coordinator was appropriately named. “Major Mc-“

  I stopped her, hearing some kind of derogatory nickname on the tip of her tongue. “McGrone.”

  “Yes. He had Badger doing his report before we even left the golf course. We’re already on our way to Sesimbra, Portugal. Authorities are holding two ships in port for us to inspect. Their manifests were incorrect.”

  My shoulders fell. Southern Portugal is beautiful. Missions in port cities are my favorite kind. And knowing they were already out of the state put the kibosh on my plan to run off to Las Vegas. “So this is an air to ground call?”

  “Sorry. It’s a call of duty.”

  “That’s okay. I’m just disappointed I didn’t get to go with.” I had one more question for them, and I didn’t want them to be in a snit when I asked it. “Any more visits from you know who?” I didn’t expect that I was the only one my mother would be visiting. She probably didn’t dare risk showing up at the training base.

  “Not on this flight.” Her voice went low, whether it was Agnes or Avis I wasn’t sure. “But Dinny said she stopped by while the plane was grounded. I guess they had a nice talk. She didn’t faint this time. They made sure Kevin didn’t see anything.” Kevin Butz is the pilot, normally. Most of the time we don’t even know who the pilot is. There’s at least one more assigned to the CURDS1, but when we have heard a name it’s always been Kevin to my knowledge. Maybe they are both Kevins. That would be interesting.

  “Well, call me from Portugal tomorrow. Make sure you note the time difference. I don’t want to have my phone ringing at 3 a.m.”

  “Okay, Poopsie. Love you!” She smacked a kiss at me over the phone and disconnected.

  If my life was a movie, this is where they would put in a montage set to something schmaltzy like Time in a Bottle. Or, for a more humorous note, set to Green Day’s You Had a Bad Day punctuated by repeated simulated car crashes, bus crashes, and the like. As promised, each simulator wa
s equipped with headgear and sensory gloves that made the experience as close to real as it could possibly get. In one motorcycle simulation, I even had the sensation of swallowing a bug. The next four days were a long string of eating, sleeping, and simulator runs. Every night I waited for the call from Avis before I went to sleep. Every night she called and told me what the team had done that day. They actually found Uber in Sasimbra, and six members of the ships’ crews were detained by the Portuguese authorities. They were there for two days, spent one day back in D.C. and then flew to Whitehorse in the Yukon, I think just to make me feel better about missing it. Avis (I’m assuming) sounded breathless when they called, shouting, “We ruptured a spleen!”

  “Oh my God, are you all right?” I asked reflexively, only subconsciously noticing the delight in her voice.

  “We’re fine,” was the reply. “But the guy we quadruple gut punched is in the hospital. The Uber cartel probably won’t miss him much, but he’ll be out of the picture for five to ten.”

  I was tempted to hang up on them, but the sound of their voices was too valuable to me. “How long did it take you to plan that joke?”

  “Four hours. Worth every minute.” They shared a giggle.

  As it turned out, getting the 50 hours on the simulators wasn’t as impossible as it sounded. Simulator hours were not real time. Every run counted as an hour but most were actually thirty minutes or less. A lot of the machines were open, arcade style, simulating motorcycles, several construction vehicles, and a tractor. The machines for bus and semi training were enclosed, with the whole thing on gimbals, and far more difficult. The semi simulator, or Big Rig Sim, had us driving on one of those narrow, winding roads up a mountain with sheer drops around every turn and then down again. It seemed like I crashed about a hundred times. The others were grumbling about it, too. I hoped it didn’t mean the road test was actually going to be a mountain road. But we had to do the sim successfully or we couldn’t even take the road test and we wouldn’t get our CDLs.