by M. Alan Marr
“You?” Jen says.
Steve explains, “Chaz is a 767 pilot for Triad Airlines in his spare time.”
“And you just bought one?” she says to Chaz, incredulously. “I fly a ratty old two-million-dollar junk jet, but I’m a couple-mill short of ever buying one for myself.”
“Not the case here,” Steve says, urging Jen to put an end to that line of conversation.
Dev interjects. “Initially, we’re going to be spending the next year on the hunt for property, for a project we’re working on. It’s going to take us all over the world. After that . . . the sky’s the limit.”
“We understand job security is important,” Chaz says. “We are offering a five-year contract, at a very competitive salary, with retirement guarantees. Obviously, we will type you in the 767 at the Boeing training center here in Seattle. That type rating, by the way, is a dual 7-5/7-6 rating, so if you ever decide to leave us, you’ll be qualified on two lucrative aircraft types.”
“Does anyone have any questions for us?” Dev says.
Jen chimes in. “I do,” she says, boldly. “A few, actually.”
“Okay.”
“You can probably count on one hand how many privately owned 767s there are in the US,” Jen says and then narrows her eyes. “I’d like to know exactly where your money comes from.”
Dev doesn’t much care for Jen’s tone and replies in kind. “Switzerland.”
“Per favore,” Milo says, “why is-a that important? They already buy the jet, no?”
Jen fires back, “Because they could be drug lords or international jewel thieves.” She looks at Dev and Chaz and adds a somewhat unconvincing, “No offense.”
“It’s family money,” Dev says, trying not to laugh.
Jen regards Dev cautiously for a moment and squints. “Whose family?”
“Mine,” Dev says. “And Chaz.”
“Both of you?” she says.
“Both of us,” Dev says, then turns to Harrison. “What about you, Harrison?”
Harrison thinks carefully before replying. “Sir, Steve and I go back a long way. He’s probably the best person I know. He trusts you both, and I respect that.”
Jen interjects and looks at Chaz. “If you’re half of this financial equation, why do you work for the airlines?”
Chaz maintains a pleasant tone. “I work for my airline because flying airplanes is something I love to do. But I never have to work again were I so inclined.” He adds, “And Jen, Dev’s family fortune comes from gold. Lots of it.”
Jen is not dissuaded in her line of inquiry. “How much did this aircraft cost?”
“Two hundred million,” Chaz says, staring right in her eyes. He adds, “We paid cash for it.”
Jen doesn’t flinch. “This is your first aircraft, is that right?”
“It is.”
Jen takes a deep breath and looks around the table. “First-time aircraft owners sometimes find themselves in over their heads. Particularly those who go out and blow two hundred million on their first jet without, apparently, batting an eye.”
“Oh, Jen, lighten up a little,” Annette says.
Jen frowns at her. “Why? For all I know, they have two hundred million and one dollars. That last dollar isn’t going to get us very far.”
“Jen,” Dev says plainly, “we have plenty of money. We’re not criminals, and we’re not stupid. Steve and Chaz are not new to this. And your employer is the one having financial difficulties.”
“Huh?”
“That junk jet of yours was put up for sale three weeks ago.”
Jen is stunned. “What?”
Dev continues, “Your aircraft, November nine six one three five, was sold this morning to an aircraft broker in Houston. Their pilots are en route to Van Nuys to pick it up as we speak.”
Silence.
Steve looks at Jen sympathetically. “Part of the reason you’re here, Jen, is because we knew what was happening with your airplane.”
“Jen,” Chaz says gently, “Steve recommended a number of candidates to us. We narrowed the field down to Harrison, you, and one other. Harrison brings international heavy jet experience to the table. That left you and the other candidate. And all things being just about equal, we could have chosen either of you. But you’re the only one looking for a job, only you don’t know it yet.”
Jen, still stunned, looks at her salad plate. “They . . . sold it?”
Dev hears Jen’s heartache and speaks softly. “I’m afraid so.”
“First-time aircraft owners,” Jen says despondently. “What I tell ya?”
“As a pilot,” Chaz says, “I promise we will never do that to you.”
The waitstaff enters and clears the appetizer plates. The conversations awkwardly start up again after the bombshell. Jen’s cell phone rings. She looks at the screen and then grows angry. “Oh, I definitely have to take this call,” she says and aggressively leaves the table.
She returns a few minutes later with a very annoyed look on her face and tosses her phone on the table.
“Jen?” Steve says.
“That was my aircraft owner,” she says, still standing, looking at Dev. “You were right. He was calling to let me know the aircraft was sold and that they’re sorry and blah-blah-blah.” Jen sits down to a quiet table. She pauses, staring at her napkin, and then looks at Chaz. “You really gave consideration to the fact that I was going to be out of a job?”
“We take care of each other here, Jen,” Chaz says.
“I like that,” she says with a slight smile. “It’s nice to hear.” She takes a deep breath. “Well, looks like I’m your man. If you’ll have me.”
“Welcome aboard,” Chaz says. “Harrison?”
“Sir?”
“What do you say?”
Harrison beams. “Hell yes, sir!”
“Milo?”
“Si, Signori Chaz!”
Dev stands and raises his glass. “To the officers and crew of Oasis.”
“Hear, hear!” Chaz yells, then looks at Dev and smiles at the double entendre in the toast. A round of applause follows for all.
Dev holds up his glass again. “And . . . to new friends.”
Everyone raises their glass and echoes, “To new friends,” except for Milo, who actually said “a nuovi amici.”
The rest of the meal is taken in good spirits. Funny stories are shared. Histories (minus Dev’s) are talked about. Jen manages to relax and enjoys getting to know everybody, though she’s still pissed at her former aircraft owner. Annette and Harrison seem to be doing a lot of flirting with each other.
Dessert is taken happily by all. At 9:00 pm, Steve stands up and addresses his crew for the first time as their Chief Pilot.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to do an aircraft tour for Milo, Jen, and Harrison. The aircraft has been ferried to Boeing Field for a short visit to the paint shop. Then we’re all going to the Renton Training Center for orientation. Starting Monday morning, flight attendants will meet with the Boeing reps to start their galley, cabin, and emergency training; pilots will begin ground school at the flight training center. The next two weeks are going to be like drinking water from a firehose, guys.”
“And girl,” Jen interjects.
“So get some good sleep,” Steve warns, “because I promise, we won’t be getting much of it after tonight.”
Dev and Chaz settle the bill, bid everyone good night, then depart to check out the Seattle nightlife. Steve and the rest of the crew walk the few blocks to the W Hotel. The mood is light, and everyone is exhilarated. They’re all at the beginning of a new and exciting adventure.
In the lobby of the hotel, Jen whispers to Steve, “I barely have one change of clothes.”
“Go shopping tomorrow after orientation,” Steve says. “Buy everything you need for the next two weeks. I’ll cover the charges.”
Jen smiles deviously at that prospect and calls to Annette, who is boarding the elevator with Franz and Milo. “Hey, Annette? S
hopping spree tomorrow after school?”
“You bet!”
The concierge meets Steve and has room keys ready for Jen and Harrison, as well as Internet codes and hotel information. Jen walks over to the desk to inquire about nearby shopping options, of which there are many.
Steve pulls Harrison aside. “Harr, you okay with starting tomorrow?”
Harrison looks a little uneasy. “I know it’s not possible, but we’ve all had two weeks’ notice drilled into our heads since we were student pilots.”
“Would it matter if I said you’ll get over it?”
“Don’t worry, Boss, I’ll get over it. I just dread making the phone call.”
Steve, Jen, and Harrison ride the elevator up to the same floor. Steve gives them his room number, and he writes down each of theirs.
“How about we all meet for breakfast at 0700?” Steve says.
“You got it, Boss.”
“See you chumps tomorrow,” Jen says and enters her room. Harrison’s room is down a few doors from Jen’s.
Harrison is shocked to see he is standing in a beautiful suite. He actually checks the room number on his literature to make sure there hasn’t been a mistake. He sees an envelope propped up on the desk with his name on it. Casually, he opens it and sees it’s a signing bonus check in the amount of fifty thousand dollars. He blinks his eyes several times to make sure they aren’t deceiving him, and then grabs the phone and dials Steve’s room. “Steve? I’m over it.”
Jen looks at the same figure on her check in her suite. “Holy shit.” Cynically, she adds, “Probably some old lady’s diamond necklace.” She shakes her head.
Franz hands Milo an envelope in their suite. “You’ve got mail.”
Milo opens it, and his eyes bulge at the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars noted on his check. “Mama mia!”
***
SEATTLE
TRAINING DAY 7
The first week is agonizing and long for the pilots and crew, and anxious and dragged out for Chaz and Dev. Chaz flies a Triad trip out of the airline’s Seattle pilot base for three days. He actually feels bad about leaving, but Dev assures him he should go fly. Dev, meanwhile, continues researching destinations to carry out his new mission.
The Boeing paint shop changes the registration number on the aircraft, reflecting the new designation N100CC, and the elegant blue and gray Boeing pin stripes are complemented by the addition of the name Constellation Oasis, and a small group of four stars painted next to the L2 main entry door, as laid out in the photo provided by Dev. Of course, on the star charts of Earth, this particular constellation doesn’t exist, but the paint shop happily put whatever the owners wanted on their aircraft. Dev e-mails the VP of corporate sales a high-resolution image of an alteration he wants made to the aft foyer floor in the aircraft. It will take several months for the artisans to craft the new and intricate terrazzo floor sections, ship it to Boeing, and have it installed, but for Dev, it will be well worth the wait.
1945 HOURS
A Boeing messenger delivers additional just-completed paperwork to Dev’s suite. Some of the documentation needs to be located inside the airplane itself: the airworthiness certificate, radio registrations, and so forth. Dev brings the documents with him in the elevator and rings the doorbell to Steve’s suite. Steve answers the door wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
“Sir, come in.”
“Steve, I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“Not at all. We could use a break.”
Dev enters and greets everyone. The other pilots are assembled around Steve’s dining room table filled with books and laptops. The walls and windows of the room have been transformed by the hanging of large aircraft schematic sheets, and actual-size panel cutouts showing every switch, dial, and screen, creating a paper cockpit. Two chairs sit facing the paper cockpit so the pilots can practice switch activation sequences and procedures; Dev smiles, because on his world they do the same thing, although, instead of taped-up paper displays, Tertian pilots use holographic imagers.
The pilots are a bit bleary-eyed, studying the pile of flashcards and study materials. A scale model of their 767 sits in the middle of the table. Dev notices the registration number on the tail of the model reads, N100CC. The model even has their paint scheme and a tiny Constellation Oasis and the small group of four stars on it.
“Hey, that’s our jet.” Dev smiles.
“Yes, sir,” Steve says. “The concierge dropped this off an hour or so ago. There’s a larger one with your names inscribed in the base for you. They left both boxes here while you were out.” Steve walks Dev over to the couch, where a large box sits on the coffee table. “Sorry, I opened it.”
“That’s okay.” Dev opens the box flaps and sees a larger, more elaborate model with polished base with the N number, date of the acquisition, and his and Chaz’s names. “Very nice.” He closes the box flaps and turns to the group. “How is your training coming along?”
“It’s a Boeing,” Steve says. “So most of the systems are familiar to Harrison and me. It’s all new stuff for Jen, though.”
“Don’t worry about Jen,” she says in third person. “Fortunately, I’m twice as smart as Steve and way smarter than Harrison.”
“It’s true, sir,” Steve says, then realizes he just slammed Harrison. “I mean, damn, it’s been a long day, and we’re all a bit punchy.”
Everyone gets a laugh at Jen’s wit and Steve’s gaffe.
“Have you all eaten?” Dev says.
“Not yet,” Steve answers, checking his watch. “We kind of lost track of the time.”
“Anyone hungry?”
“I am,” Harrison says.
“Starving,” Jen adds. “Captain Bly wouldn’t let us order anything,” she jokes.
“How about pizza?” Dev says. “Zeeks on Denny is supposed to be great. If you’re hungry, I’d love the company.”
“Chaz still flying?” Steve says, knowing by Dev’s tone he’s bored there by himself.
“He is. He’ll be back tomorrow.” Dev looks around. “Where are the flight attendants?”
“They’re at a meeting up in Everett. Cabin stuff. They won’t be back until late. Looks like you’re stuck with just us.”
***
A booth by the window at Zeeks houses the hungry Oasis pilots. Pizza and craft beer are the bill of fare. A good end to a long workweek for the pilots. And a chance for Dev to get to know the new people better.
“We finished up aircraft systems today,” Steve says to Dev. “Tomorrow, it’s off to the flight training devices.” He explains, “The FTD is a sort of non-motion simulator, to prep us for the start of actual simulator training. If all goes well, we’ll finish up sim training next Sunday and take our check rides with the FAA Monday morning. Then we’re . . . on our own.”
“Excellent,” Dev says with satisfaction. He looks around at the faces in the booth. “Listen, I know this all happened fast, and you all probably have things at home you need to attend to, so Steve and I will work on a schedule that includes some time for you to catch up on your personal business.”
By 9:45 pm the pizza pan is empty, except for a few half-eaten crusts. The server lays the check down on the table. Steve, Harrison, and Jen all grab for it.
“Hey!” Dev says in protest.
“I got it,” Steve insists, not lifting his hand off the check.
“No, I got it,” Harrison counters, his hand on half of it.
“Hands off, cretins, it’s mine,” Jen barks.
“You’re a girl,” Harrison jokes, earning a swift elbow from Jen. The tête-à-tête gives Steve just enough of an opportunity to swipe the bill.
“Victory is mine!” Steve yells, holding the check behind him. Jen grabs at the air for it.
Dev laughs.
“No fair, Boss!” Harrison cries out.
“Captain’s prerogative.”
“Am I still here?” Dev says.
“Mr. Caelestis,” Steve says officially, �
�Federal Aviation Regulation ninety-one decimal three grants the Captain emergency authority to deviate from any rule, regulation, limitation, policy, or procedure. Sir.”
Dev smiles at this. “Does it now?”
“Yes, sir. Dinner, my friends, is on me.”
“Thank you, Boss,” Harrison embellishes.
Jen grouses, “No one ever lets a girl pick up the check.”
“Fine, we’ll go to a steakhouse tomorrow,” Harrison jokes.
“You’ll be eating soup,” Jen retorts.
“Thank you, Captain,” Dev says humbly.
Returning to the hotel, Dev asks Steve for a few minutes alone. Jen and Harrison disband, while Dev and Steve go into the bar for a quiet drink.
“Please don’t sir me,” Dev says preemptively as they sit down.
“Sorry, Dev,” Steve says. “But it will take some time to adjust to the new dynamic here. And in front of the crew and Boeing guys, it’s appropriate.”
“I agree,” Dev says. “But right now, it’s just you and me. So tell me, how is everyone really doing?”
“They’re doing great, Dev,” Steve says honestly. “Hard workers, all of them.”
The bartender sends over the drinks he knows each of them likes. Steve and Dev tap their glasses together.
“New friends.”
“New friends,” Steve repeats.
Dev brings up a new topic. “There’s a marked difference in flight experience between Jen and Harrison.”
“There is,” Steve agrees, surprised at the way Dev pulls details seemingly disparate from his position in the world. “Harrison has several years of international heavy jet experience. He’s my number one. Harrison could captain the jet in my absence.”
“I thought these type ratings allowed all of you to be captains.”
“Technically, that’s true,” Steve says. “But experience matters. A type rating is a qualification for captain, but it’s not the only qualification. A brand-new doctor doesn’t just jump right into performing surgery.”
They do on Dev’s world. “I see,” Dev replies. “So what is your recommendation?”
“I’d like to eventually designate Harrison as relief captain. Jen is short on international experience, and she’s never flown anything near the size of a 767. Give her a couple of years, she’ll be great, but, for now, she needs to remain a first officer.”