by R. D. Kardon
“Trying to get the hang of it,” she said. “Well, you know, as much as I can…”
Deter ignored her. He grunted at the switch panels over her head, stepped back to the door, and stuck out his head to talk to one of the Tetrix mechanics.
“Hey, Brad, can you tug us out to be fueled?”
“You bet. Can you clear the wing, Ed?” Brad nodded to the right side of the aircraft. The Astral’s right wing was close to the wall. The tug Brad drove was hooked up to the nose wheel. He couldn’t see the wing tip from that vantage point.
Deter ignored the request and sat down in the cabin so Tris went to help the mechanic. Brad nodded his thanks as he drove the airplane out to the ramp. Tris gave him the thumbs up the whole way.
Once Brad unhooked the tug, Deter walked over to the airplane’s refueling portal on the right wing. Tris followed him.
“We need eight thousand pounds of fuel. How many gallons?” Deter waited for an answer.
She knew this! Tris did the mental math to calculate approximately how many gallons of jet fuel equaled the desired number of pounds.
“Twelve thousand gallons,” she said. “Six thousand per side.”
As soon as she saw Deter roll his eyes, she realized her mistake.
“Single point refueling. And just twelve hundred gallons.” He shook his head and walked away.
The turboprop Tris flew at the commuter was gravity-fueled in a tank on each wing. This was a jet. It had single point refueling under pressure. And she was so nervous she said thousand instead of hundred. Damn.
Tris was mortified. She shook her head and walked back into the cabin to focus on something else, anything else. The Astral was stocked with snacks, soft drinks, and alcohol for the Tetrix executives. The ornate decanters of liquor in the galley, crystal glasses, and china that matched the embossed napkins made Tris wonder about her own appearance.
She looked at herself in the lavatory mirror. Tris didn’t think to wear any more makeup than the mascara and ChapStick she usually flew with. Yet she grimaced at the reflection of the washed-out girl that looked back at her. She released her hair from behind her ears. There wasn’t time to curl it this morning, and she hoped it would have enough body to frame her face. Instead, it clung flat against her skull.
Her clothes made her feel even shabbier. Her Tetrix uniform wasn’t ready yet; it was being cut to fit by a local tailor because the only off-the-rack uniform pants they had were men’s. Her old pilot shirt had yellowed under the armpits, and her Clear Sky uniform pants were worn to a sheen.
“What are you doing?” Deter appeared behind her as if from nowhere.
“Uh, no, I, uh,” she said. “I was just checking the lav supplies.”
Deter stifled an eye roll. “Come watch me start the APU.”
The Astral was the first aircraft Tris had flown with an auxiliary power unit, a small jet engine located in the rear of the plane that powered all of its systems on the ground, including the air conditioning and heating. Tris had been forced to gut it out in extreme temperatures many times without either. Thankfully, those days were over.
They sat side by side in the cockpit. Deter held the airplane’s one checklist in his hand, but didn’t look at it. He threw a bunch of switches, and the next thing she knew, she heard the unmistakable whir of an engine starting. Before she could ask a single question, Deter sprinted off the aircraft toward the pilot area. His bald head caught the sun and looked like it was on fire.
It surprised Tris that Deter had been so cavalier. The importance of checklists had been drummed into her. “The minute you think you’ve memorized a checklist,” Bron had said, “you tell yourself it’s ok to forget something that might either kill you or save your life.” She decided to go over the checklist herself and confirm each button and switch position. Deter had gotten them all. He’d executed the procedure perfectly.
With nothing else to do, Tris pulled out a binder of aircraft performance charts from a small closet behind the cockpit. The dusty volume detailed the Astral’s maximum takeoff weights based on temperature, runway lengths, presence of moisture, and altitude.
A few minutes later Ross climbed into the aircraft. “That’s some pretty dry stuff,” he said looking over her shoulder. “They’ll give you that at the training facility in Dallas, won’t they?”
Training. Dallas or bust. “I don’t mind doing some reading. It’s pretty interesting. And I won’t be going to school right away.”
Ross picked up on her disappointment.
“You’ll get there,” he said, looking around. “Where’s Deter? He’s supposed to get the flight plan in the box.”
“No idea. He started the APU and ran back inside.”
Ross flashed an irritated glance at the entrance to the pilot area. “Guess I’ll have to do it. Hey, wanna see how it’s done?”
Tris nodded and followed him into the cockpit.
“Here, watch me,” he gestured for her to sit next to him. His fingers flew over the keyboard on the nav computer. Within what seemed like seconds, they had bearing and distance to the first airborne fix. The Astral’s navigation was simple, yet state of the art. Tris looked from the full-color displays to Ross and then out to the ramp. She could get used to this.
Fifteen
ROSS CLICKED ON the autopilot with the Astral in stable cruise flight, pointed toward Asheville. Tris was belted into the jump seat behind and in between the two pilots. The company’s Chairman of the Board read a magazine in the back.
“So, how are Gerri and the kids?” Ross asked Deter, talking past Tris.
“Fine, fine. Devon and James?”
“Good. Yeah, they’re in Montana with my father-in-law.”
“Oh yeah?”
Neither pilot turned his head during the exchange. Deter and Ross were partners in the delicate dance of cockpit conversation. After basic piloting skills and good judgment, a knack for superficial conversation was critical to aviation career success.
Flying forced people who had nothing in common and might not otherwise engage outside of the cockpit to sit together for hours with little to do. Disagreement was the last thing pilots wanted upfront. It was best to keep conversation light.
Tris looked outside at the contrails of a jet passing in the opposite direction on their left, and remembered how she’d learned that lesson. Once she had inadvertently brought up politics on a flight. Her captain then tuned in to Rush Limbaugh’s program on the airplane radio. It was a mistake she only made once.
The descent, approach, and landing into Asheville were routine. Deter and Ross worked in rhythm as they brought the Astral to a full stop on the ramp just as Deter said, “Shutdown checklist complete.”
Anxious to stand up, Tris opened the Astral’s door for the CEO.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Emerson.” Tris stuck out her hand.
He did a brief double take. “Roger, please.”
Deter then appeared by her side and squeezed past her, pushing her back toward the cockpit.
“Let me help you with that,” he said. He grabbed the exec’s briefcase, shot Tris a withering look, and trotted down the stairs toward the waiting limo.
Not sure what she’d done wrong this time, Tris picked up trash, brushed crumbs from the chairman’s breakfast off of his seat, and crossed the belts. Later, she’d confirm the catering and make sure the aircraft had fresh ice and coffee for the trip back to Exeter.
At Clear Sky, all she had to do after a flight was walk off the airplane. But Tris enjoyed the extra responsibilities. She wasn’t put off by wiping off tray tables, reorganizing snacks in the drawers pillaged by their passenger, or reassembling the newspaper Roger had tossed in sections all over the cabin. This was her space now, and she wanted it perfect.
Ross watched her straighten the cabin, but made no effort to help.
“So?” He sounded anxious to hear what she thought.
Tris had so many questions that she was afraid if she asked even one she’d just spin. Still so ne
w, she kept it light.
“Looks like fun. Looking forward to flying it.”
“Yeah, it handles great. Has a nice feel to it,” Ross said.
Then Deter walked back into the aircraft. As usual, he held a Styrofoam cup in one hand. The other held some of the aviation publications that were passed around the crew room.
Deter looked past Ross and sat down opposite Tris. He turned his head to the side momentarily, then swiveled around to face her directly.
“So, how exactly did you get this job?”
Ross’s head shot straight up, then bobbled like one of those dolls in the rear windshield of a car.
“I submitted a résumé. I interviewed.” Caught off-guard, her response sounded sarcastic, but that’s exactly how it happened.
“Yeah. We heard about that interview.”
Ross stared at Deter like the older man had lost his mind.
But it didn’t stop him. “We weren’t invited, were we, Larry?” Deter turned to Ross, who looked as if speaking would cause him physical pain, his expression a mix of shock and fear.
Ross finally said something that sounded like, “Uhhhhhhh.”
An alarm went off inside her, complete with a flashing red light, but she willed her body still. Tris wanted to wave her arms, alert others to the danger, but thank goodness they stayed rooted in her lap.
“Oh come on, Larry,” Deter continued. “You know that one day they just told us they’d hired her and when she was starting. They promised we’d get a chance to meet all potential new hires. And then she just shows up.” He paused to sip his coffee. “Nothing personal, of course,” he said.
Ross searched maniacally for something in his briefcase. Deter’s glare never left Tris. She looked right back at him and said, “I really wanted to meet you guys, too. I was sure I’d enjoy flying with you.”
“I’ll bet.” Deter’s exasperation was palpable. “You know, we had a lot of guys who wanted this job. Guys with military experience, jet experience, years and years of flying crap for substandard outfits waiting for a chance like this.” He paused for effect, then spat, “And they chose you.”
“Christ, Ed, come on,” Ross finally said. “She’s not privy to any of that. Like she said, she sent a résumé and she interviewed. They decided to hire her. They offered her the job. She’d have been crazy not to take it. Hell, you said yourself how many guys were in the running.”
By the time Ross jumped to her defense, it was too late. The power of Deter’s attack had energized every nerve in her body. Yet to anyone who walked past the Astral’s open door, they just looked like three crewmembers sitting in the cabin chatting.
For a split second, Tris wanted to run off the Astral and never come back. I can go to the terminal, get on an airplane, fly home, and never see these guys again. But that was no real solution. She’d chosen to be exactly where she was. Deter, unfortunately, came with the package.
“You know,” she looked past Deter and Ross and forced herself to speak. “I wanted this. I’ve always wanted this. All my commuter buddies told me I was crazy to take this job.”
That surprised both men. Deter squinted and cocked his head for a brief moment, then his facial muscles clenched taut as rope in a tug-of-war. But that ever-so-slight flinch encouraged her to go on.
“I want to see the country. I want to travel the world. I want to fly international, not just pull up to the gate in Cleveland and head back to Exeter. I want to see things.” She held out two open palms. “And I want to fly there myself. I want to pull up on the ramp in the cockpit in Beijing and London and Moscow as Captain of the Astral.”
“Captain?” Deter’s face burned red. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re talking about being a captain? You just got here, lady, and if you think—”
“Ed, shut up, will ya?” Ross said. “Tris, look, I think Ed just wants to know why you took this job. I mean, you had a pretty good airline gig, right?”
They were all quiet. Seconds passed like hours.
“I can’t think of a better life,” Tris said at last.
“Neither can I. I earned this life fighting for my country.” Deter lifted his cup and drank his coffee. But she could hear the echo of the unasked question.
“What did you do?”
Time passed, but Tris had no idea how much. Her brain told her to look at her watch, but her muscles didn’t respond. Deter’s verbal assault left her bruised and swollen, yet she hadn’t been touched. Neither man was in the cabin anymore. The Astral was silent.
They could come back at any moment. Tris thought she could get some privacy in the Executive Terminal ladies’ room. She moved quickly, hoping to avoid both of her crewmates. She made it to the restroom door undetected, but when she opened it, another pilot stood by the sink.
“Oh!” Tris didn’t expect company.
The woman was in uniform and wore epaulets with three bars on her shoulders. Another first officer. She smiled at Tris as she straightened her tie. Tris exhaled in relief.
“Hey,” Tris said, “what airplane are you on?” Tris had seen a couple of Citations and a three-motor Falcon next to the Astral on the ramp.
“The Falcon 900,” she said without turning her head. Then she subtly straightened up, moved her shoulders back, and looked past Tris. Classic pilot body language for “my airplane’s bigger and faster than yours.”
“Wow. Nice ride.”
The Falcon pilot gave Tris a barely perceptible nod, dried her hands, tossed a paper towel into the trash, and brushed nonexistent errant hairs back into her perfect bun.
“Hey, listen,” Tris said, “You got a minute? I could really use some advice. I’m new on the Astral, and my training captain—”
“Nice meeting you,” the woman said as she hurried out of the room.
Another blow. Tris steadied herself by placing a hand on the cold white tile wall. Demeaned and dismissed by her own crew, and then a perfect stranger. Tris felt unsteady, almost dizzy. She entered a stall and latched the door behind her.
Imbalance turned to fear. Could Deter know about her training history?
After a few deep breaths, she realized if Deter knew about what happened at Clear Sky, he’d have told Zorn, and she’d have never been hired. So, he was just another hurdle she had to jump, despite what she’d already overcome. When does it end?
After a few minutes, she peeked outside the room to check her surroundings. She spied Deter, a hairy hand on his hip, talking on a pay phone. She practically ran back out to the ramp so that he wouldn’t see her.
Back in the Astral, Ross stood in the cabin as he removed something from his briefcase.
“Let it go,” he said as soon as he saw her. “Don’t mind Ed. He’s like that sometimes. Seriously, it isn’t personal.”
“Not personal? Sounded pretty personal to me. I’m doing the best I can. I’ve been here, what, ten days?”
Tris had a legitimate gripe but didn’t want anything she said to sound like whining. That’s just what Deter would expect. This could be a defining moment for her. Ross seemed to be friendly, at least without Deter around. She wanted his support—anyone’s support. She needed it. She couldn’t fight Deter without someone by her side.
“He’ll come around,” Ross said with a smile. “Hey, don’t you have a training flight coming up with him? Just wow him in the airplane!”
And just like that, Tris felt the weight of her failures.
Sixteen
DETER AND ROSS were the only two people in the Tetrix pilot area. Ross stood by his desk with the Asheville trip flight manifest in his hand. He’d filled in the details that Tetrix tracked and needed to drop it on Ann-Marie’s desk, but couldn’t seem to move in that direction. The few sheets of paper mesmerized him, as if the longer he held them, the closer he’d come to making sense of the day’s events.
Ross heard crunching and smelled Pringles as Deter walked back to his cube from the stock room. Tris had gone home as soon as she’d finished cleaning the c
abin.
Asheville to Exeter had to have been the most awkward leg Ross had ever flown. Tris sat in the jump seat and didn’t say more than two words the whole flight. Deter acted like nothing had happened. And now they were back at base and Deter still wouldn’t let it go.
“What is she doing here?”
Not this again. “Brian wanted someone entry level. She seems to fit that requirement. She’s a nice girl. A hard worker.”
“So what? I don’t care if she’s kind to small animals. Man, do you know how many years I slogged in crappy jobs before I got a gig like this? She hasn’t been flying all that long, and she just walks into it. And she knows shit. Nothing. I spent an hour trying to train her last week. Longest fucking hour of my life.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ross tried to placate him, and hoped Deter would just talk himself out.
Tris had been a commuter pilot, a grueling, low paying flying job. A stepping stone for jobs at places like Tetrix. Deter had no idea what that kind of flying was like, or how she struggled to get that experience. The military had comped his flight training. Tris paid for every flight rating she earned on her own, out of pocket, on a teacher’s salary. And Ross practically had to pull that information out of her. She didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her. You had to respect that, but no use pointing that out to Deter. He saw it the way he saw it.
“She’s sure leading a charmed life, I’d say.” Deter was on a roll. “And I’m the one who has to train her in the Astral. Man. She has no jet time at all. Christ, I hope she doesn’t kill me!”
Ross held his tongue but it wasn’t easy. He wondered if Deter even believed what he was saying. Every pilot, including Deter, started somewhere.
When Deter came to Tetrix, he’d been flying outdated equipment that had none of the advanced navigation and in-strumentation the Astral had. He had to learn it just like she did. Ross remembered a time or two when Deter had trouble picking up the new technology.
Could Deter have forgotten his own struggles so soon? Memory was a funny thing when you decided in advance you weren’t going to like someone.