by M. Alan Marr
They can tell from Steve’s glance to Jen that he’s not kidding. “Okay, hand them over.”
No one says anything as they power down their phones and place them on a tray, which Steve will secure in his quarters. “I’m going to trust you guys not to transmit from your iPads or laptops, or do I need to collect those as well?”
No one says anything. They know the consequences.
Jen drops the attitude and says pleasantly, “You mentioned a change in flight plan?”
“I did,” Steve says. “We’re flying to Auckland as planned. However, we’re going out empty.”
“Empty?” Jen says with disbelief, some attitude returning.
“Yes,” Steve says. “The boys are going to meet us there.”
“Huh?” Jen says. “They’re going to meet us there? How? This is their jet.”
“They have other business,” Steve says, pulling at his tie to take it off. “But we are to proceed to Auckland, as planned, and enjoy ourselves. This will be a positioning flight. You can change into civilian clothes if you’d like, but before we land, it’s uniforms again until we get to the house.”
“What house?” Harrison says.
“The house Chaz bought.”
“We’re staying at Chaz’s house?”
“That’s right,” Steve says. “We’re going on a little crew retreat for a few days. No hotel this time. We are being given the use of Chaz’s place in New Zealand until they arrive.”
“So they’re going to commercial in to Auckland?” Jen says. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“They’re big boys, Jen,” Harrison says. “They’re probably hitching a ride on Air Force One.”
“Why Air Force One?” Jen says.
“Because that’s the only thing that might be better than this.”
“Maybe they’re going by ship,” Annette guesses. “Why would you send your plane ahead if you were still going to fly there?”
“Well, if they’re going by ship, it’s going to take them a couple weeks,” Matt says.
“Maybe they already left,” Franz guesses.
“I saw Dev yesterday at the law firm,” Matt adds.
“Is Chaz working?” Franz says. “Maybe Dev’s flying with him.”
“Triad doesn’t fly to Auckland,” Matt replies.
“They fly to Sydney,” Harrison says.
“Sydney is a 777.”
“Let’s go over the flight plan,” Steve says, ending the speculation. “We’re on the South Atlantic route. Flight time is sixteen hours, forty minutes. We are fully fueled, fully stocked, and we’re going to be in the air for a long time. Dev said to enjoy the airplane, so don’t feel like you have to stay down in the crew deck.”
“We get to enjoy the airplane?” Harrison says.
“We do,” Steve says. “Even the staterooms. However, and this is me saying this, the Owners Suite is off limits. And please, Harrison and Annette, and Franz and Milo, don’t defile the staterooms with all your sweet love. Treat the airplane with respect. This is good of the boys to let us go on our own.”
“Well,” Franz says, “Milo and I are going to prepare a fabulous dinner. We’ll eat in the dining room. And the lounge. And the library.”
“And I’ll whip up some alcohol-free drinks,” Annette says brightly.
Steve adds, “We’ll divvy up the flying so everyone gets the same amount of play time. Harrison, who’s up first?”
Harrison answers, “Jen and I flipped for it. She’s up first.”
Steve nods. “Okay. You guys fly the first three hours, and then Matt and I will relieve you. We’ll plan on switching every three or four hours, plus fill-ins for bathroom breaks as needed. If there’s nothing else, let’s get going.”
***
Dev watches the flight tracker screen in the study of the penthouse. The little Oasis aircraft symbol took off a few minutes earlier and started the voyage Dev hopes will save the planet. He sends a cable to the Crown annotating the present status of the mission. Once the report is sent, Dev checks his watch and goes into the kitchen to make Chaz something to eat.
Chaz arrives at the penthouse from his last work flight at 11:55 pm. Dev is back in the study by then.
“It’s official,” Chaz says. “Effective midnight tonight, I’m on leave for six months.” He sighs. “I hated having to do that. I feel guilty.”
“Unfortunately, it’s necessary.”
“Yeah, I know.” Chaz looks at the screen. “They all right?”
“As near as I can tell.” Dev takes a breath. “We’re past the point of no return.”
“They’ll be fine.” Chaz’s stomach growls. “I’m starving.”
“I made BLTs.” Dev smiles. “With extra bacon.”
The sandwiches are more like a half pound of bacon each, with a rumor of lettuce and a speculation of tomato, all held in place by a generous dollop of mayonnaise. Dev may hate ketchup, but he loves mayo. Water cravings set in quickly from the saltiness of the sandwiches.
“That was good, thanks,” Chaz says.
The rest of the night is spent going over Dev’s training plans. Chaz compares Dev’s plan to the standard Tertian training syllabus provided. The basic flight section is all but eliminated, as are many individual training events that deal with aerodynamics. The Oasis pilots’ first exposure to Tertian ships will be a small single-engine flight trainer introducing them to zero-g technology. Chaz has some concerns, since the vertical maneuvering and zero-g system handles similarly to helicopter techniques, which none of the Oasis pilots have any experience with. There’s nothing they can do about that right now; they will have to cross that bridge when they get to it. Chaz, in perfect twenty-twenty hindsight, wishes he bought a helicopter from the start so he could have sent the pilots for formal helicopter training. But that didn’t happen, and now the crew will be faced with a difficult task of learning a skill set that is both time-consuming, challenging, and very frustrating.
The discussion continues well past 3:00 am. Chaz notes that some of the training sections Dev crossed out dealing with combat maneuvering should probably be put back in place because civilian pilots rarely have experience in what essentially amounts to aerobatics. Dev agrees they may have to tweak the program along the way, but until they actually get started they’ll have to play it by ear.
“Come on,” Chaz says. “We better get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
Chaz, having flown all day, sleeps soundly. Dev, however, does not. He wakes up several times during the night and checks the flight tracker, and finally takes up residence on the couch, where he falls asleep on the couch, watching the blip on the flight tracker screen. Chaz wakes up around 10:00 am and heads down the hall, where he finds Dev sound asleep in the study. He glances at the flight tracker, then sits on the edge of the couch and gently wakes Dev up.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Dev says groggily.
Chaz smiles. “You were sleeping. But it’s time to get up now. We have work to do.”
They do not go to Starbucks. Caution is required at this point. As far as the lawyers are concerned, Chaz and Dev are en route to New Zealand, and the last thing they need is to run into anyone from the law firm in Midtown. Coffee is made in the kitchen, and the rest of their time is spent readying the penthouse for a long, quiet period of emptiness. They eat, clean up, prepare some sandwiches for later, freeze what they can from the refrigerator, and dispose of everything else down the garbage chute.
Chaz and Dev pack up their passports, flight suits, and weapons in two large duffel bags from an Army surplus store purchased days earlier. The bags also contain two very large bundles of camouflage netting. The rest of the day is spent formatting evaluations on each of the flight candidates, and now, the flight attendants. They already have most of what they need on the pilots, but the subject of training the flight attendants is new material. Since they do not want to surprise the Admiralty with three unknown persons showing up, official files for each fli
ght attendant are drawn up. Background information on each of the flight attendants is reviewed.
Annette’s file is somewhat of a surprise. She did well in her community college, and took an interesting mix of classes, ranging from liberal arts to automotive maintenance. She was about to graduate when the opportunity at the charter company came up. And though she sometimes plays the blonde-card, Annette has a very good head on her shoulders.
Milo, as it turns out, broke from tradition and left the family restaurant business. The question becomes why? The Tertian program pulls up Milo’s employment file with the charter company. It contains a handwritten paragraph penned by Milo, explaining that his family’s restaurant has been handed down for three generations now. As the eldest son, Milo would be expected to take the reins one day, but since he will never have children, he wanted the business to pass to his siblings and their children. It is for that reason, Milo applied to become a flight attendant, and left the family business to the family.
Franz had a classic culinary education and held several positions, progressing through the kitchen ranks to earn the title of chef. His love of travel, cultural cuisine, and exotic flavors pairs well with being an airborne chef, and the world became his supermarket as he applies his craft.
Based on all they know about Franz, he is exactly where he wants to be: cooking for people who appreciate his talent.
The pilot training syllabus is still a subject of contention. Since Chaz has yet to receive formal Crown training himself, knowing what to abbreviate and what to omit are, at this point, total unknowns. And since Dev hasn’t learned to fly Earthly aircraft as yet, he doesn’t really know what parts of the aerodynamic world will translate and which will not.
***
Two hours before sunset, Dev and Chaz sneak out of the Gillespie via the garage exit. An unexpected glitch with all of the Gillespie’s security cameras just happened to occur while this was taking place. A taxi picks them up behind the building. Destination: Whitley Airfield to collect the Beaver. The taxi driver initially balks at driving forty minutes into the sticks, but Chaz hands him three hundred dollar bills and asks if he still has a problem with that. He doesn’t.
The taxi driver pulls into the quiet little airport and drops off his fares. Dev and Chaz glance over the area while the taxi turns around and drives off. The maintenance shop is closed, and there’s no one on the airfield. Dev does a security sweep of the area with his Ti-Phone just to make sure. There are no runway lights here, so Chaz wastes no time and begins preflighting, leaving Dev to load up their gear in the back of the plane. A few minutes later they climb up into the cockpit. Chaz runs the short checklist and starts the engine. Without delay, Chaz advances the throttle and taxis toward the runway. Chaz keys the radio and transmits over the common traffic advisory frequency he is back-taxiing on the runway and will be departing to the west.
“Who are you talking to?” Dev says.
“Standard procedure,” Chaz says. “No air traffic controllers here.”
The Beaver reaches the end of the short runway and turns around. Chaz visually checks the sky around him is clear and then keys the radio. “Whitley traffic, De Havilland Beaver departing runway westbound.” Chaz holds the brakes and advances the throttle. The engine revs and Chaz releases the brakes. Advancing more throttle, the Beaver barrels down the short, bumpy runway. This ‘ground turbulence’ makes for a nerve-racking departure for Dev, but smooths out as soon as the Beaver lifts off. Chaz banks to the left as he climbs and heads away from the sleepy country airport.
Flying low toward the Alabama border to avoid most air traffic control facilities, it is now Chaz’s turn to hand the controls to Dev and instruct him in the ways of Earthly aircraft. Despite feeling nothing at all like the fighter he’s used to, Dev does a reasonably good job, but comments that it feels like he’s flying a kite. The control yoke is a new and strange experience for him, since he is used to flying with a control stick. It will take some practice before he’s able to land the floatplane on water, but as far as en route flying, Dev is more than capable. The hands-on time also takes his mind off of the mission at hand.
Fifty-six minutes later, the sun begins earnestly setting in the west, and twilight descends upon rural Alabama. Chaz takes over the controls and overflies the lake, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. Dev takes an airborne scan with his Ti-Phone and, as usual, all is clear for several miles around. Chaz lands on the lake in about as much dimming light as he ever cares to and water-taxis toward the small beach clearing. As he nears the shoreline, he lowers the wheels and has to add a great deal of power to get the aircraft up onto the ground, where he swings the plane around and shuts down. The engine is shut down, and the lake is once again serenely quiet, although their ears are still ringing, making the silence around them seem palpable.
They get out of the aircraft and look around. It really is tranquil here.
“Nice landing, by the way,” Dev says and then laughs. “Much better than Steve’s.”
“I don’t know how you guys survived that. I really need to teach you how to fly our stuff.”
“Maybe when we get back, but right now, I need to teach you how to fly our stuff.”
“Don’t worry, Dev, we’re on to something good.”
“I don’t have much experience breaking the news to unwitting Earth residents that they’re not alone in the universe. I’m worried about how the crew is going to take it.”
“You mean Jen?”
“I mean everyone.”
“Well, you’re two for two on the alien front.” Chaz smiles. “Steve and I handled it okay. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
Dev takes a breath. “I’m used to quick decision-making, adrenaline, and combat. This waiting around pondering the what-ifs is maddening.”
“You are such a liar,” Chaz laughs. “You’re not worried about yourself, you’re worried about the crew.”
Dev admits, “I am worried about them. I care for them, and I don’t want this to change how they feel about us.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Chaz says. “Trust me.”
They off-load the duffel bags and set them aside, then go to work securing the floatplane. Dev drives several stakes into the ground with a hammer, while Chaz connects multiple tie-down lines to them, firmly anchoring the floatplane for its long sit. A mechanical gust lock is installed on the control yoke to prevent the ailerons and elevators from flailing around in inclement weather. A similar lock is installed on the rudder. Chaz adds some aviation-grade dry gas to each tank to guard against moisture buildup contaminating their fuel over the next five months, and then places stick-on plastic sheets over the fuel caps to further guard against water working its way in. Dev unzips the army surplus duffel bags containing sets of camouflage netting bought at the same store. Together, he and Chaz spread the nets over the plane and anchor them to the ground. With any luck, no one will ever notice an aircraft sitting there.
“Why the hell did I have Steve paint this thing white?” Chaz says, looking at the new paint job visible through the camouflage netting.
“Don’t worry,” Dev says, “nothing we’re doing here is illegal. I own the land. You own the plane. We can park it here if we want to.”
“That’s true.” Chaz shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing we can do about it anyway.”
Dev pulls out two sandwiches from his bag. “Behold, the last of the bacon.”
“Oh my God, Dev, you and the bacon.” Chaz laughs. “BLT?”
“Yes sir. I should have brought a package to take with us.”
They eat their sandwiches in the clearing and wait for it to be late enough to continue the operation. In any other circumstances this would be a great little vacation away from it all. Night settles in around them with a definite chill in the damp air. They watch the stars come out. Dev smiles as he sees his familiar constellations. But now, instead of just marveling at Dev’s preoccupation with the stars, Chaz looks up with some trepidation a
nd spots the constellation Triangulum, the cosmic signpost that happens to point to Earth’s sun. “There you are, bastards. The arrow pointing the way to Earth.”
“Yeah,” Dev says, his smile fading. “Pisses me off it’s near Camelopardalis.”
“Ah, your middle-namesake. Hardly your fault.”
“I know. I’m just anxious to get back in the fight.”
Chaz smiles at Dev’s dedication to duty. “It will be nice to see Trieste again.”
“Yes, it will.” Dev smiles. “Hard to spend this much time away from everything I’ve always known.”
“I bet. How do you think it’s going up there? Have you heard anything?”
“I received a cable from Commander Joss. He said they’ve put a bunch of decommissioned twenty-twos back in service.”
“What’s a twenty-two?”
“Twenty-two guns. Warships like Adonis are seventy-fours.”
“Adonis had seventy-four guns?”
“Technically. Many of our guns are multiple-barrel weapons. Each barrel counts as a gun.”
“So I take it these twenty-twos are smaller ships?”
“Very much so. They’re not much bigger than a Recon ship. They’re not long-range ships, but they’re working with what they’ve got. The Admiralty also pressed certain civilian ships into supply service.”
“Dangerous?”
“Very. Normal supply routes are patrolled. Fleet supply will require venturing into uncharted waters.”
“What are they going to do about Earth while we’re away?”
“The Admiralty is increasing patrols. I was surprised to learn they’ve dispatched one of the twenty-twos to the region.”
“I thought you said the twenty-twos aren’t long-range ships.”
“They’re not. Their food supply will be closely rationed, and they’ll be drinking manufactured water. They docked two fighters to its hull and will remain on station until we get back.”
“Gonna be a long five months for those guys.”
“Yes, it will. The fighters will rotate out to bring supplies, but the twenty-two crew will be here for the duration.”
“Our sailors routinely go to sea for that long,” Chaz says. “Then again, they have the support of other Navy ships. I guess those guys will be on their own.”