Grounded!

by Claremont, Chris

  “You on the warpath today, kiddo, getting even for this morning? How ’bout showing some mercy and backing off a touch? It’s late, it’s been a bear of a day, the whole rest of the week’s waiting.”

  Amy held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Seriously, Nicole, you have any idea what it means if your Prexy loses? Total mess. A huge chunk of his own party figure he’s the next best thing to a traitor... ”

  “Typical bloody grounders,” Nicole muttered, slumping onto the space Amy made for her on the settee. “If they change the rules at this stage... ”

  “Why shouldn’t they? It doesn’t seem to you that Russell’s giving away the store? Thanks to our off-planet assets, the United States is back where it was a century ago, where we should be, right? In the driver’s seat, setting the political and economic agenda of the world. And is that such an awful thing? It was an American spacecraft that made First Contact, an American crew that saved the Pussies... ”

  “Amy!” Nicole interrupted with a snap to her voice. “I don’t like that term, I won’t have it used in my presence. Understood.” The last word wasn’t a question but a command and Amy seemed taken a trifle aback at being spoken to in such a tone.

  “It’s totally popular,” she said in a lame attempt at justification, once more the kid who hung out behind the jaded sophisticate facade.

  “It’s wrong. And you should know better.”

  “Anyway,” Amy returned to her original tack, “it was our guys did all the work, why shouldn’t we claim the benefits?”

  “Maybe some things should be shared?”

  Amy didn’t think much of that.

  “Maybe, kiddo, the Hal don’t see us as Americans. Calling folks ‘grounders’ is a lot like saying ‘Pussies,’ and I should know better. But it also describes a mind-set that differentiates people down here from the ones up there. You put on a pressure suit, Amy, you can’t tell men from women, much less skin color or national origin.

  “Those distinctions don’t matter. Survival’s a joint exercise, everyone pulling together, cooperating, trusting each other, regardless of where they came from. Earth has only one race, homo sapiens, and that’s who the Hal want to deal with. The subdivisions we’ve grown among ourselves over the course of time, they’re complications they’d rather do without.”

  “Suppose that becomes unavoidable?”

  “Oh, they’ll adapt. They’re neither stupid nor unsophisticated.”

  “So they’re just cutting us this really great deal out of the magnanimous kindness of their collective hearts? Gimme a break!”

  “Self-interest, kiddo. Joining our two species as equal partners may sacrifice short-term gain for long-term advantage. Ultimately less strain on the relationship.”

  “I still think we’re being screwed. If they’re nice to us, it’s for a reason, and we’re fools not to use that to our advantage. Especially if the cost involves the U.S. sacrificing its national sovereignty. I mean, you blue suits swore an oath, right, to preserve and protect and defend the Constitution.”

  “I don’t think it’s in jeopardy.”

  “But if it was, you’d have to do something about it.”

  “Me personally, or the military as a whole?”

  “Whichever.”

  “I don’t like the scenario, Amy. I’m not going to play.”

  “I don’t either, Nicole. And who said you’ll get a choice? Geez, listen to me, willya? Spend the afternoon plugged into a political theory tutor and, presto, one instant agitator.”

  “How far ahead of your grade do you work?”

  “Undergraduate level for some, graduate for others. I stopped doing formal school when I started reading. Free-form tutorials seem to work best. But that wasn’t why I came over. They’ve had first snow up at Cinnamon Ridge, totally rip powder, there’s a pickup downhill set for the weekend, sort of an unofficial tune-up for the World Cup Team. I got a slot.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “I think those boys are in for some rude surprises. But even better, as an extra, added attraction, there’s a Rathbone concert that night, totally killer brainfry-bodyshok dance music, for which I have backstage passes.”

  “That sounds really great, Amy.”

  “Then you’ll come?”

  “I’m afraid I have other plans.”

  “Nicole, my bro’s so lame, a total spud, dump him.”

  “Nice talk.”

  “The voice of experience, trust me. The boy lives in a state of perpetual terror.”

  “Could’a fooled me.”

  “That’s what we Cobris do best, don’t’cha know? I mean, Nicole, his idea of Heaven is to create the perfect facsimile of reality. Basically because he can’t hack the alternative. He ain’t worth the effort, he’s a flaw.”

  “Aren’t we all.”

  “C’mon, please, this gang’s fundamentally zip, puts your sweetie Lila into total eclipse. And I’d really like for you to see me ski. Whaddo I gotta do for a yes?”

  “I know it means a lot, Amy, but I can’t just blow him off.”

  “Sure you can, he’ll get over it.”

  “So will you.”

  “After what he said this morning? After what you said? I thought we were friends.”

  “We are. But I won’t be pushed, by you any more than him.”

  “Sure doesn’t look that way to me.”

  “Amelia, this isn’t proper behavior. It’s rude and very cruel, and I won’t have it. I made a commitment, I’m standing by it.”

  “Hey, no sweat, your loss. No need to make it a federal case or anything, geez! Look, it’s late, you’re blasted, I’m sorry. I’d better burn, Nicole, see ya later.”

  She danced across the yard as she spoke and in the background a car moved away from its parking space up by the corner. A man slipped out of the front seat passenger door and around the car to open the back door for her. From the way he moved, a particular economy of grace, Nicole assumed him to be professional muscle, probably ex-military. As the car moved off, its headlights caught a figure standing shadowed down the deserted street, Matai. She was dressed for running and from her looks had been pushing hard. Nicole gave her a wave, but she wasn’t really paying attention to the Hal.

  Against her better judgment and for what seemed like diametrically opposed reasons she found herself liking both Alex and Amy, even though they did their best (intentionally and otherwise) to drive her bugfuck crazy. This being one of those moments.

  She couldn’t shake the suspicion that Amy’d given no thought to match or concert until she somehow got wind of Nicole’s plans with her brother. And wondered, were the situation reversed, would Alex be pushing as hard the other direction? What the hell was this, a contest?

  Was she the prize?

  * * *

  seven

  Amy kept her distance throughout the week and the few times their paths had crossed was coolly formal to the point of insulting. Nicole knew the pattern, she’d seen it in her own brothers and their friends at that age, had probably gone through the same stage herself though she refused to admit it. She figured either the girl would come out of it or she wouldn’t. Alex’s temper was like a flash fire, it burned bright and hot when it was set off but it also quickly passed, its very intensity limiting the amount of damage. Amy tended to bury things deep, as though an overt emotional reaction was somehow beneath her. Alex got mad, she got even.

  Nicole listened to the news while she did the preflight, radio tucked into one of the pockets of her flight vest, letting out a cheer and staging a small victory dance to hear that Cassie Monahan’s Red Sox had swept the Yankees and thereby clinched first place. Politics wasn’t anywhere near as much fun, the presidential election going pretty much as Amy had said, with the U.N. negotiations grinding pretty much to a halt while the delegates waited to see who’d come out on top.

  All well and good, assuming the Halyan’t’a had the same agenda. From Ciari’s letters, Nicole knew there were as many f
actions as here, as deeply heartfelt an opposition to the proposed union, with Shavrin pushing her own people just like Russell. Nothing was settled, beyond the fact that the two races had been formally introduced. And probably wouldn’t be for generations yet to come. The trick was getting off on the right foot.

  Alex stowed his bag in the back of the Baron, closed and locked the double “barn doors” to the passenger compartment, joined her up front. She didn’t greet him with much of a welcome.

  “Am I going to need a bloody manual to figure all this out?” she grumbled with an exasperation she felt was more than justified, slapping the back of a hand lightly against the electronics displays that filled most of the panel.

  “Hey, I thought you were a hotshot pilot,” he retorted, his infuriatingly good cheer not exactly doing wonders for her mood, “ ‘skill and craft’ and all that.”

  He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Really, it’s not a problem. You’ve got all your standard systems—COM, RNAV, LORAN, radar with, I might add, greatly enhanced range and sensitivity, and, the piece de resistance, and APOD-HUD generator.” On cue, an iridescent display popped into view, seemingly in midair, filling the center of the windshield. “Same capabilities as you’d find on the latest state-of-the-art military wing job, and maybe a little more.”

  “Trifle excessive, don’t you think? That gizmo alone probably cost more than the whole flamin’ aircraft!”

  He shrugged. “Never thought about it, to be honest. I use ’em in the Virtual modules, so I have a whole storeroom full to play with. Don’t give me that look, Nicole, being who I am isn’t my fault.”

  “Maybe not, but on occasion it do boggle the mind. I mean, Alex—chump change for you is what most folks won’t earn in a lifetime!”

  “It’s not my fault! What, am I supposed to walk away, change my name, crawl into some hole somewhere and spend the rest of my life apologizing for the fact my old man’s a certifiable genius?”

  “Certified,” she said automatically, correcting him.

  “Certifiable, goddammit, I pick the words I use. Shit,” he hissed with a raw vehemence that turned her head, “if you wanted to cancel, why didn’t you just say so? Christ, go with Amy to her precious fucking downhill and her precious fucking concert, who the fuck cares?”

  “What is the matter with you?”

  “Amy invited you out.”

  “So what? I didn’t cancel on you, chum. Want to make that a mistake?”

  “Too late for that, where she’s concerned.” His mood changed as suddenly, and wildly, as it had begun. “Memory’s positively elephantine when it comes to... disappointments.”

  “You guys. Are a pair.”

  “Question is, of what? Look, I’m sorry, okay.” He looked with some exasperation of his own at the mostly dark sky outside, the eastern horizon just beginning to hint at the approaching sunrise. “I’m not a morning person. Could never understand for the life of me why something whose only function is to make travel more convenient seems to require that every trip start at the crack of flipping dawn!”

  She snorted, set throttle and mixture, turned the ignition key. She took her time taxiing out to the runway, listening to the sound of both engines, eyeballing the cowlings to make sure nothing was leaking, checking the panel—forced to concede the usefulness of Alex’s displays, which projected a far more detailed analysis of the engine’s status than the old analog gauges—used the APOD to ’scope out their course south to San Diego. Fans ran good as new, better in fact than they had before the accident.

  “Makes a difference, doesn’t it,” he said, “being able to actually see the routes, instead of simply visualize ’em in your head. The APOD can not only show our position along the way, it can tap into the ATC grid and show us our context with other traffic.”

  “So each pilot in effect becomes their own flight controller.”

  “They’ll have access to the same information, yeah.”

  “Sometimes, chum, there can be too much of a good thing.”

  “Baron One-Eight-Three-Six Sierra, Edwards Tower, how do you read?”

  “Five-by, Edwards. Three-Six Sierra,” she replied, telling them she was receiving them perfectly.

  “Cleared for takeoff. Routing approved as per filed flight plan. Maintain runway heading after departure until further advised by LA Center. We have a four-engine Boeing heavy setting up on the main, so watch out for wake turbulence as he passes you.”

  “Affirmative, Tower.”

  “Is that dangerous,” Alex asked as she pivoted into position, “that turbulence?” Got a small shake of the head in return.

  “Shouldn’t be.” She pushed the throttles forward, smiling to herself at the full-bodied growl of her engines as they picked up speed and the Baron started to roll. In a matter of heartbeats, they were off the ground and pulling hard into the thin, clear air over the high desert.

  “Look over your right shoulder, Alex,” she told him, “lemme know when that heavy starts its roll.”

  “I think I got his lights—here he comes.”

  There were a thousand meters between the Baron and the ground when the transport passed them, gaining rapidly in height as it swung into a climbing turn that took it right across their course.

  “Hang on,” Nicole cautioned, “this may prove a trifle bumpy.”

  Like boats casting a wake across the water, planes do much the same in the air. The larger and more powerful the vehicle, the more intense the atmospheric turbulence caused by its passage. Here, they were getting intersecting wave forms—from the front and the side—complicated by the spinning, whirling dervish vortices thrown off by the transport’s jet engines. It was like running into potholes in the sky. The Baron shuddered at first, as though bouncing over small ripples in the road surface. Then, suddenly, all pretense of a road vanished and they were bouncing across sharply rutted open country in a rude, violently sway-backed motion that almost tore the control yoke from Nicole’s hands.

  “And wasn’t that a treat.” Nicole grinned as they moved into calmer air, still climbing towards their assigned altitude. Hearing no reply, she looked over at Alex. He was ramrod-straight in his seat, stretched taut, eyes closed, teeth clenched tight. She reached out to his hand, but he didn’t respond.

  “Alex,” she called softly, “it’s all right. We’re fine. There’s no danger.”

  “So you say.”

  “I’m the pilot, I know whereof I speak.”

  He took a deep, shuddery breath, posture seeming to melt before Nicole’s eyes as he slumped back into his seat, still refusing to open his eyes.

  “Hey,” she said, “you worked on the flamin’ aircraft, you should know how well it’s put together.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Alex”—adding a bit of steel to her tone, hoping that would get through to him—“we’re all right.”

  “I believe you.” Subtext, he meant no such thing.

  “You scared of flying?”

  “Among many other things.”

  “Pardon my asking, but if it bothers you so much, why the hell take my plane on this jaunt?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of beating your fear by confronting it?”

  “There are limits to every indulgence, chum.”

  Now, at last, he looked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You going to flip into a panic every time we hit some bumps? You know the flight regime down the coast—mountains right to the shoreline, plus an approach to Lindbergh in San Diego that takes us off a desert, over hills, and down to the seafront—no such thing here as a smooth ride. I have enough to do worrying about the aircraft, Alex, I won’t add you to the mix.” He said nothing, but turned his eyes straight ahead. An impressive profile, Nicole found herself noting with an appreciation—and she had to admit an attraction—that took her a trifle aback, when it wasn’t acting so heartstruck sorry for itself.

  “Look,” she went on, “the day’s still young. I can amend our f
light plan, drop us into LAX, we can grab the shuttle the rest of the way. Don’t even need to fly. Amtrak runs their Coastal MagLev on the hour.” She knew she was pushing but somehow she felt it important to follow all the way through on their plans. Which was another surprise. Wasn’t all that long ago, she didn’t even like the man.

  “I’m okay.”

  “We have options. You don’t need to feel boxed by anything.”

  The chuckle he gave seemed to indicate otherwise, but she decided not to press the point.

  “Too damn much imagination, that’s my problem.” A laugh this time, not much of one, but of genuine amusement, as he looked towards the ground. “A wing can snap, the plane can be tossed into a flat spin, anything can happen. Be made to happen.”

  “Anytime, anywhere, so what? Clichéd as it sounds, nobody lives forever.”

  “So they say. Is it so wrong not to want to be hurt?”

  “Depends, I suppose, on the extremes you’re willing to go to keep yourself safe. But every moment, every action, has its own element of risk. And if you end up locking yourself in a house, going nowhere, doing nothing, because you’re terrified of the consequences, what’s the point of anything?”

  “I can live as fully, experience as much, as anyone. More importantly, I’m in control.”

  “VR? Plug into a Virtual dreamscape where you call the shots? Masturbation for the mind.”

  “What’s the old saying, ‘At least it’s sex with someone you love.’ ”

  “Very clever. The other old saying is, of course, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ Besides, if you believed as fully as you make out, what are you doing here with me? Humans are social animals, Alex, we thrive on interaction with others and our environment. Make up all the elements, you lose the spice of variety. The challenge of the unexpected.”

  “You sound like my shrink.”

  “Sheer common sense.”

  “Fine. What’s your excuse?”

  “Hmnh?”

  “At least I admit I’m scared, Nicole. Every so often, I even try to confront it.” A pause, the next line coming in a fractionally softer tone as though Alex was admitting something to himself. “Though it gets harder and harder. And the end result less and less worth the effort.” His voice picked up again. “If you had faith in your own words, you’d still be on the Moon. And those wings you wear wouldn’t be for show.”