Solar Storm (Season 1): Aftermath [Episodes 1-5]

by Marcus Richardson

  The door opened with a squeak and its faded yellow blinds rattled as his assistant Linda stuck her head in and smiled. "Jay, Caitlin Gibbons is here from the Community College to speak with you about the possibility of doing a large-screen projection during one of her lectures next month. I guess the school lacks the equipment she needs.”

  Jay closed his laptop and grabbed his daily planner and pencil. “I'll be right there."

  He glanced down at the notes he'd scribbled on a piece of paper and frowned.

  Conspiracy theories will have to wait.

  CHAPTER 3

  KATE CANTRELL LOOKED UP from the checklist in her lap as she sat in the first officer’s seat aboard flight 1652, a Boeing 737-500 out of O'Hare en route to LAX. Over the constant background buzz of air vents and the blanketing hum of the aircraft’s cockpit, she tried to focus again on her borrowed copy of Emergency Operating Procedures for the Boeing 747-800I.

  "Don't push yourself too hard," said her mentor and the flight's senior pilot, Lane Gifford.

  She glanced over at him on the left side of the flight deck and smiled, adjusting the sunglasses perched on her nose. "Never. This stuff isn’t that bad—you should see the manual for the F-39."

  "The -39s aren't even operational yet. That doesn't count."

  Kate grunted. "I was in on the ground floor for the test program." She shrugged. “Got out before the budget fights."

  Gifford turned, the sunlight flashing off his own glasses. "Well, back in my day we didn't need a manual the size of an encyclopedia to tell us 'pushing the stick forward too far' would make you crash."

  Kate shared a laugh with the older pilot. When she’d first joined the crew she’d been more than a little nervous being a new hire to the airline and partnered with one of the more experienced pilots. Once Gifford learned, they were both retired Air Force jet jocks, a lasting friendship had blossomed. As a result, over the past four years they’d been Bluewing’s longest-serving domestic aircrew.

  Kate looked down at the thick manual in her lap and turned to the next page. Instructions written by the manufacturers apparently intended for the lowest common denominator of intelligence informed her to switch on auxiliary power units only after five other criteria were met in the event of a midair incident.

  If they lost power to the engines, the first thing she’d do would be to switch on the APUs and get power back to the cockpit. On the newer planes, everything was digital and computer-controlled. She couldn't rely on grabbing the stick and making the plane move like she could with some of the Air Force fighters she’d flown. The military required redundancy upon redundancy. Those planes had to devastate the enemy and bring pilots home safely no matter how much damage they absorbed.

  Home.

  She smiled to herself while skimming through the manual. Her O'Hare to LAX bi-weekly long-haul was almost over. Once they landed in Los Angeles, they would refuel, turn around, and head home. Then she would be off for four days.

  The fact that those four days coincided with her first wedding anniversary was not luck at all. She had worked hard to land her vacation on that particular weekend, trading and swapping assignments like a madwoman for over a month.

  The world of an airline pilot was one of constant change—one minute she could be enjoying a day off, the next she could receive word she's needed to fly. Being a junior pilot meant you were always on call, even when you weren’t. Being a decorated Air Force fighter pilot meant that she might be called up before some of her civilian counterparts. That earned her some resentment, but the relief on the faces of older ex-military pilots was patent when they found out she was their stand-in.

  Her thoughts shredded away as her headset crackled with an incoming radio transmission: “FAA Space Weather Alert. Flight controllers on the management list, please rebroadcast to all active flights under your jurisdiction. Due to unprecedented solar radiation detections, ALL flights over CONUS airspace will be rerouted to maximum southerly limits…”

  She listened to the computerized voice for a moment, staring out the window at the cloud tops, thousands of feet below the smooth-flying jetliner. Another polar flight rerouting—it happened enough that unless you were on a polar flight, it was no big deal. How they—flying from Chicago to Los Angeles and nowhere near the North Pole—ended up on the distribution list was a curiosity, but nothing more.

  "You hear that?"

  She turned to face Gifford. "Yeah, just a standard solar flare warning."

  "I think you maybe need to close that book. That was no standard warning I've ever heard." He paused, watching her. "Kate, we’re not on a polar flight."

  She blinked. The warning had mentioned rerouting flights, and she'd assumed the only affected flights were those that crossed the frozen polar wastelands, per standard FAA operating procedure. Kate shook her head and closed the manual.

  "You're right," she admitted.

  "Of course I'm right—I’m the captain. I'm always right," Gifford laughed.

  "They said it applied to all air travel. That's weird." Message received—pay attention if you want to be in my seat any time soon, she chided herself. "Okay, you want me to confirm this with LAX?" she asked, no hint of irritation in her voice.

  "What's our fuel status?"

  Kate glanced at the digital screen in the center console. "One and two are at 40%, three is at 45%, and four is running at 38%," she said. "That's a little low, but within specs.”

  Lane grunted. "Better have maintenance check it out when we land. Okay, we got plenty to get us there, but we don't have enough to screw around in a holding pattern for three hours while they sort out this shit show. Let's confirm with LAX GC."

  "Roger that," Kate replied as she thumbed the radio key on the forked control wheel between her legs.

  "LAX control, Bluewing 1652—can you confirm the warning we just received?"

  After a brief second of silence, the radio chirped in her headset. "Copy that Bluewing, warning is confirmed and accurate. Reworking local airspace now."

  Kate nodded. "Roger that, LAX—be advised we will be estimated 15% fuel on arrival."

  "Copy 15% fuel on arrival. I won’t keep you up there too long."

  "Much obliged, LAX control. Bluewing 1652 out."

  She released the button on the wheel and adjusted her position again in the first officer’s seat. Four years out of the military and she still wasn't quite used to the way airline cockpits were so…loose. The cockpits of every fighter she'd ever flown had all wrapped her in a snug cocoon of speed and lethality. You didn't get in a fighter so much as put it on.

  By comparison, the cockpit of the 737 was like a baseball stadium. She half-worried if she looked out the window she might fall out of her seat. Her hand drifted up to her chest to check her restraints again.

  "Don't worry, it took me about 10 years to get used to it," muttered Gifford. He reached down and patted the harness strapped over his own chest.

  Kate squirmed. "I still don't like the way the seats fit."

  Lane laughed, then looked down at the instruments in front of him as he went through his own personal checklist. “Well, she's comin’ along smooth as silk." He reached down the left side of his seat and pulled an aviation magazine out to read.

  "Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em," he joked.

  Kate scanned the controls on her side of the cockpit. Satisfied the autopilot was functioning and that the solar flare warning in the oddly worded FAA transmission would have no immediate effect on their plane, she relaxed and settled into her own mid-flight routine.

  First order of business was to pull out her cell phone and send a few texts to friends and family. Jay always got such a kick out of getting a message from 30,000 feet. It became their thing—halfway through a flight when she could unplug from active control of the aircraft, she’d send him a message telling him where she was or how fast she was flying.

  She quickly tapped out a note advising him she might run into a delay on landing because of the so
lar flare and assured him nothing was out of the ordinary, then sent a similar message to Leah.

  Although the phone had securely connected to the plane's Wi-Fi network, a blinking message appeared on her screen noted it found no signal and the message would be sent later. The phone asked if she wished to save the message as a draft. She sighed and hit yes, then put the phone away and pulled out another book.

  "U.S. Army survival manual?" observed Gifford with a wry smile. "What the hell are those ground pounders gonna teach you?"

  Kate laughed. "Not so much teaching me anything," she replied. "Just a refresher."

  "Air Force survival school not good enough for you?"

  She smiled. "It was the only thing the bookstore had in stock. I figured the Army has got to know a little more than the Boy Scouts, so why not?"

  Gifford smiled. "Well…" he said and turned his head back to his magazine. "At least I had the good sense to try to forget everything I learned as fast as possible."

  It was Kate's turn to smile. "Give me time. Besides, Jay’s a librarian, remember? If I didn't have my own book ready to go, I would've ended up with something like War and Peace."

  They settled into a companionable silence, trying to relax and read to the accompaniment of the clicks, and beeps of the plane as it flew itself at 580 miles per hour some 27,000 feet in the air.

  Kate smiled as she thought of Jay. She wondered what he was doing at that moment. A quick glance at her watch showed it was just after lunchtime back home. He was probably settling in for an afternoon of making sure the photocopiers were full of paper and the card readers were still working. She imagined there wasn’t much excitement to be had in a small town library, but he loved it anyway.

  Thinking of Jay brought her mind back to her upcoming anniversary. After landing in Los Angeles, she’d fly back to Chicago and be home in time for a late dinner. Then the payoff: four uninterrupted days of vacation. Leah would be at school in Indiana and Kate was looking forward to some serious personal time with Jay.

  She felt heat building in her stomach and doubled her efforts to focus on the survival manual in her hands. She randomly flipped through the book, looking at different techniques for setting broken bones and collecting water and then skimmed to the section on desert survival. Kate glanced out the starboard window at the arid landscape below. They were over Western Wyoming, approaching Nevada. Even from thousands of feet in the air, the ground looked hot.

  A console in front of her chirped a high-pitched electronic warning. As she switched off the alarm, she closed her book. "Turbulence warning."

  "How bad?" mumbled Gifford, not even bothering to look up from his article.

  She scanned the data on the screen. "Looks like mild to moderate."

  Gifford sighed. "Okay, better take us off auto." He reached out with one hand and took his control wheel in a firm grasp while he stretched to hit the autopilot disengage button with the other.

  "Plane is mine," he announced.

  "Captain has control," she replied, keeping her hands just above the wheel on her side in case she needed to assist.

  He flipped the automatic pilot disengage switch but his transfer was so smooth the plane didn't so much as shutter. "Your turn," he said with a grin as he threw a switch that would signal the passenger cabin to fasten seatbelts.

  Kate pushed a glowing button in the middle console and waited for the muffled ding on the other side of the reinforced cockpit door.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the flight deck—you may have noticed that the captain has turned on the 'fasten seatbelt' lights. It looks like we’re in for a bit of bumpy air. It’s nothing to worry about though and we should be through it in just a minute. Thank you.” She released the button and sat back in her seat.

  "Okay, here we go," said Gifford. As soon as he finished speaking, the plane sliced into the turbulence and bucked like a startled horse.

  “Mild to moderate my ass,” muttered Kate as she tightened her restraints.

  CHAPTER 4

  AS HE PULLED OUT of the library parking lot Jay sighed. He was on vacation. Kate would fly into Chicago soon and then after a two-hour drive south, she’d be home. With Leah at school the two of them could celebrate their anniversary uninterrupted for four whole days.

  Jay smiled when the phone rang and the car announced that his wife was calling. He pressed a button on the steering wheel and called out, "Hey gorgeous!"

  "Hey yourself," Kate's playful voice replied, sounding like she was at the other end of a tunnel.

  "Wow, the connection is awful…”

  “Yeah, you don't sound too hot on this end either. It’s—”. Her voice crackled out, then came back before Jay could curse. “—flare. I can still hear you though. How was your day?”

  Jay smiled. “Oh the usual pre-finals craziness. How was the flight?"

  "Not bad at all, I got good airtime with turbulence over Nevada, so that was fun. Other than that it was quiet."

  Jay grinned. He knew Kate, as a former fighter pilot, rather enjoyed turbulence—it reminded her of the fast and furious days of being a jet jockey. He shuddered just thinking about a passenger jet flopping around in rough air—he hated to fly and would never understand Kate’s love of being thousands of feet in the air.

  To take his mind—and now-queasy stomach—off turbulence being ‘fun’, Jay watched the stubbled cornfields pass and stretch on into the distance as he drove along the rural road heading southwest out of town. He glanced up through the windshield at the clearing, dusk-shaded skies. It might be a decent night for breaking out the telescope depending on when Kate made it home.

  "Actually, the flight is something I wanted to talk to you about…"

  Jay shoved all thoughts of astronomy aside. The tone of her voice did not sound good. "What's up?" he asked. "You're not delayed, are you?"

  "No…" she said slowly. "There's an opportunity though."

  “An opportunity for what?" he asked, trying to force his hands to relax their sudden death grip on the steering wheel. With Kate, 'opportunity' could mean anything from extra sleep on a weekend to moving to China.

  "So there's this long haul to Hawaii heading out at 1 AM local. Sam was on it—you remember Sam?"

  Jay was still trying to process Hawaii and 1 AM. That was 4am his time. "Sam?”

  “Sam Wright,” Kate confirmed.

  Jay’s mind raced. “Uh…heavyset black guy, right?"

  "Yep, well anyway he got the flu—medical grounding. Guess who got the first sub slot?"

  "Are you serious?" Jay asked. He knew how hard it was for junior pilots to get prime slots on long-haul flights to destinations like Hawaii. The reward was lucrative both in terms of money earned and adding experience. The more long flights she flew, the quicker Kate could rise up the ranks within Bluewing.

  "I was offered it first, honey. We could be looking at a nice little bonus if I take—" she said quickly, already on the defensive.

  "No, no, of course you’ve got to take it," Jay said, trying to be supportive. "That sounds like a fantastic opportunity."

  He stared absentmindedly out the window at a passing oak tree whose bare limbs hung over the road. An awkward silence permeated the car.

  "You're not upset?"

  Jay grimaced. "No…I'm not upset. Well, I won't say I'm not disappointed. I was looking forward to having you all to myself tomorrow night—"

  "I know, I'm sorry. The timing sucks, doesn't it?"

  "Well, yeah. It is our anniversary…"

  Her voice perked up. "But wait, I forgot to tell you it gets even better—my union rep, Carl, told me that working back-to-back like this was such a favor for Bluewing that he'd pull me an extra day of vacation—paid vacation—if I could take the slot. They're in a crunch here and this can help everybody out."

  Jay drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. She tried to say something else, but couldn't get through the garbled transmission.

  "Honey? You there?" The connection clicked o
ff. Jay hit the redial button on the console and waited for the phone to reconnect.

  "There you are—that was weird," Kate said.

  "I think it's the solar flare. I hear it's only going to get worse overnight."

  "Yeah, I heard…" The signal went to static before Kate's voice came back. "…polar flights, but that’s just standard operating procedure—it didn't affect us."

  Jay thought for a moment as he passed a lonely farmhouse off in the empty fields. "The flight to Hawaii…with the solar flare disrupting communications and everything—is it still safe?"

  Kate laughed. "Totally. I wouldn’t even consider it if I was at all concerned about the flare. Everything we're seeing from the FAA and NOAA says it's just an R3 event."

  "What kind of event?" He asked.

  "It's how they tell how bad the storm is as far as radio blackouts. An R5 would affect the entire nation. R3 is considered moderate. We might have some spotty comms up in the air, but it's not gonna do anything other than make cell phones and text messages a little wonky down here for a few hours. It should all pass by noon tomorrow."

  "You're sure?"

  "Completely. I wouldn't want to be flying—extra vacation or not—if something was…” her voice faded into the static again the signal dropped.

  Jay swore and hit redial again. When she picked up, he continued, "See, this makes me a little nervous."

  "Oh, come on," she laughed. "I had this lecture with Leah. She spent at least 30 minutes trying to convince me to come home right away. You know, she's convinced there's some massive solar storm coming after us—I forget what she called it—"

  Jay felt his stomach drop. "A coronal mass ejection?"

  Kate laughed. "I see where she gets it. Yeah, that's what she was warning me about. I told her to look at the news. Then I explained to her that if the FAA says it's okay, then it's okay—they don't screw around with passenger air travel."

  Jay recognized by the tone of her voice that she wouldn't argue the point any more. "Well, if you're sure, then I trust your judgment." He winced. The sound of his own voice wasn’t nearly as convincing as he’d hoped.