Eye Candy (18 page)

“Want to tell me what’s got you upset?”

Candy looked up, away from her phone. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and exhaled. As if steeling herself. “Barney killed himself.”

Chapter 16

Lost

Danny took the stairs two at a time. He knocked, the door opened, and she was in his arms.

The smell of her. The feel of her. Warm under the smooth, soft green silk of her robe. He was getting an erection. It made him feel guilty. He was supposed to be consoling her, not trying to get into her underpants. Already having a pair of her underpants in his pocket cast that sentiment in doubt, or at least confused the issue, and he realized he really had no idea where he stood with Candy. They’d hit it off on their first date in a way which was so amazingly great as to be nearly spooky. Their second date had turned into a near-death experience he feared may have doomed the relationship. But then her underwear turned up on his car and had been nestled in his pocket all day. An overt flirtation if ever there was one. But the mating dance was a complex series of tentative steps taken by each partner, watching and evaluating, choosing how much to risk and when. Harley had put it all out there; clearly she didn’t care for wasting time and wasn’t afraid to show it. But Candy was more mysterious, more difficult to read.

“You want your underwear back?”

She laughed. “You keep it.”

She raised her head from where it lay nestled against his neck, and their eyes met.

He brushed a lock of blond hair away from her eye. The video quality on their phones didn’t do her justice; she was so beautiful. More beautiful than the last time he’d seen her in person. However that could be possible.

“Do you want to tell me what happened with Barney?”

She held up both her hands, palms up for him to inspect.

Each of her hands, palms and fingers alike, was smeared with pink and blue and purple and green and silver smudges. The first thing which came to mind was abalone. The second thing which came to mind was positrons. He’d seen a small vial of them once in college, during a Robochemistry lab.

Positrons were present in only one place: a robot’s brain. Candy had told him that Barney was a cop; cops carried guns. The rest of the pieces fell into place.

“Did you see him do it?”

She nodded. “Positrons smell like cotton candy. Isn’t that strange?”

It certainly was. It had never occurred to him that positrons would have an odor.

“It’s not your fault.”

She rubbed her hands together. The iridescent smears remained. She closed her hands and dropped them to her sides and looked at him. “Then whose fault is it?”

“He was a robot. Robots can be unpredictable.”

“They’re not supposed to be unpredictable. They’re supposed to be safe. Even from themselves. Barney needed my help and I failed him. Now he’s dead.”

“He was never alive. Not in the classical sense.”

“That’s your opinion. And not one I can say I agree with. I may have at one time. But not anymore.”

“Barney was a machine.”

“No. He was more than just a machine. He had feelings. He felt pain. He felt fear. He felt remorse. And confusion. And loss. He felt them to such a degree that he couldn’t bear to go on functioning. I’ve been dealing with the cops all day: the LAPD’s chief roboticist and a dozen different people in his department, even the Chief of Police, who managed to convey concern for my state of mind while also threatening my professional livelihood for allowing what he insisted was a catastrophic malfunction of one of his officers. As if that isn’t a contradiction in terms right there! How can Barney be a peace officer tasked with making life-and-death decisions day in and day out and at the same time be nothing more than a machine? They’re having a funeral for him on Thursday; did you know that? Since when do we have funerals for machines, huh? Please tell me if you know, because I sure as hell don’t.”

Candy stood a few feet away from him, having backed away while she purged the day’s pain. She brought her hands to her face, then quickly lowered them again and studied her open hands. She looked up at Danny. “It won’t come off. I’ve tried everything. My skin hurts from all the rubbing.”

Danny went to her and put his arms around her. She allowed herself to be wrapped up.

Her muffled voice rose up from his chest, “Can we get out of here?”

“You want to go out?”

“I want to get away. I need to get away. I’ve been dealing with this shit all day. I need a break. I need to think about something else.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Anything.”

“Want to get something to eat?” He wasn’t the least bit hungry, but this had nothing to do with actual food.

“Can we go flying?”

~

Danny taxied the Viper Jet to the Hold Short line at the end of runway 21 at Santa Monica Airport. Candy had helped with the preflight, the robotic fuel truck had topped off their tanks with Jet A, and Candy had taken to the parachute and helmet and cockpit like a natural-born aviator. She hadn’t so much as batted an eye during the emergency egress explanation. But she asked a million questions, as if through the asking she would gain the sum knowledge required to pass the Private Pilot checkride.

Danny was pleased to see her so engaged with the process of getting the Viper Jet ready to take to the air; it didn’t appear forced; she truly was so excited by the process that she clearly had forgotten about Barney. At least for now. Danny had given her his extra set of black leather flying gloves. The cockpit was fully climate controlled and pressurized, but the gloves would hide the iridescent reminder of the day’s misfortune.

Danny surveyed the horizon, checking the sky for inbound airplanes he would need to avoid during their takeoff. “So, Candy. We probably should’ve discussed this earlier, but where would you like to go?”

“Hawaii!” Candy carefully adjusted the position of the microphone in front of her lips.

Danny laughed. “So would I but this bird doesn’t quite have the range to make it all the way to Hawaii.”

“How much range does she have?”

“About fifteen-hundred miles.”

“How high can she go?”

Danny considered it. “Good question. She’s rated to fifty thousand feet. But I’ve never been up that high. She might go higher.”

“Want to find out?”

“Absolutely.” Danny double-checked the Common Traffic Advisory Frequency 120.1 on his number one radio, then keyed his mic. There were no aircraft on final approach; it was safe to take the runway. “Santa Monica traffic, Viper Jet Niner-Victor-Juliet is taking the active, Santa Monica.” He released his mic. “Ready to go flying?”

“Absolutely.”

Danny smiled; Candy was quick.

The Viper Jet taxied onto the runway and Danny advanced the throttle. At 90 knots, he pulled gently on the stick, the nose rotated into the air, and he felt the distinct sensation at the moment the wheels left the runway. The rough translation of the tires against the asphalt vanished, replaced by the singular, smooth sensation of flight. “And we’re airborne. Gear coming up.”

“Wow.” Candy’s voice emanated from the seat behind him. He glanced at her in his rear view mirror. Both of her gloved hands were pressed flat against the side of the canopy and she was looking down toward the ground. “Look at the lights. It’s so beautiful. They look like they go on forever.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Danny advanced the throttle. Within seconds they were passing over the coastline. High up in the southern sky, the full moon glowed big and round and vibrant.

While Candy stared down at the moonlight lighting up the Pacific ocean all around them, Danny radioed SoCal Departure and arranged the specifics of their flight. Once he had their clearance, he returned to Candy.

“What do you think?”

“I think I want a pilot’s license and an airplane like this one.”

Danny laughed. “That can be arranged.”

“Are we all set for our attempt to break the world altitude record?”

“Nobody said anything about setting a record.”

“You’ve gotta think big, Mr. Olivaw. Think big!”

“If you say so.” He checked their airspeed, tilted his head back and checked the airspace above them, saw that it was clear, and pulled hard on the stick.

The Viper Jet
angled upward until they were vertical. Danny imagined the shark mouth out there on the nose, chewing up the night sky.

“What the hell was that?” Candy demanded.

He could hear the laughter in her voice; she was smiling, feigning indignation. “Three-point-four gees.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“You said to think big.”

“Meanwhile your girlfriend is in the back seat vomiting. You guys get off on making people puke, don’t you?”

“What do you mean ‘you guys’?” The
girlfriend
reference hadn’t escaped him, but Candy seemed to want to discuss vomiting.

“
You guys!
” she reiterated. “Pilots. Aviators. Whatever it is you call yourselves. We mere mortals make the stupid mistake of letting you strap us into the cockpit and the first thing you want to do is make us sick. You get off on it. Admit it.” She was laughing.

Danny laughed too. “No, I get off on sharing what I love. Airsickness just seems to be the unfortunate side effect for some people.

“I can see why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you love it.”

They climbed through 12,500 feet and Danny initiated the flow of supplemental oxygen. He listened to the thrust from the engine, knew exactly what it was supposed to sound like. He listened to the hiss of the air rushing over the bubble of the canopy, flowing over the black and green skin of the airplane. With the noise-canceling electronics built into their helmet headsets, the cockpit was comfortably quiet.

“So how long are you going to keep me on my back like this?” Candy asked.

Danny smiled and checked the Vertical Speed Indicator and the Altimeter. “We’re climbing at twelve thousand feet per minute, and are passing through twenty-three thousand feet. So you should be on your back for about another two minutes.”

“Is that all? I kind of like it.”

“Once we reach fifty thousand, I can’t guarantee she’ll be able to continue climbing.”

“I see. I bet you get a lot of girls with this airplane.”

“It’s almost as good as a puppy.”

Two minutes later, Danny began to apply slight forward pressure to the stick, gradually bringing the jet out of the vertical and transitioning gently into level flight.

“There we are,” he announced, “fifty thousand feet. Look around.”

Candy looked down.

So did Danny.

The lights of the California coast stretched on forever.

“I’ve never seen so many lights,” said Candy. “If there is a God, and I pray that there is, I hope Barney is with Him, or Her, and that their view is as good as ours.”

“Amen.”

Danny noticed a cluster of flashing lights far below them.

“What’s that?” Candy had seen them too.

“Airliner. A big one. Looks like an A410, biggest airliner in the world. Holds eight hundred people.”

“Isn’t it amazing?”

“Isn’t what amazing?”

“That we’re up here flying around like this. There are hundreds and hundreds of people down there inside that airplane and we’re up here, and we’re all just flying around, on our merry way to wherever, off to see family or off on vacation or traveling on business. It’s a miracle.”

“Safest form of travel there is.”
Usually
, his mind added. He probably shouldn’t have said that. Candy hadn’t mentioned the shuttle crash. Therefore he hadn’t either. Hopefully he hadn’t reminded her of it just now. He waited to see if she was going to say anything about it. He was certain she was thinking about it.

“Are there refreshments on this flight?”

Danny grinned to himself, impressed that Candy was being so diplomatic.

“Look between your legs. Below the edge of your seat. See it?”

“There’s a little compartment.” A moment later Candy produced a small silver pouch. “Coffee?”

“Self-heating coffee. Crunch the bottom to activate the heating mechanism. In sixty seconds, when it’s ready to drink, the spout will pop up.”

Hot coffee sounded good. Danny reached into the storage compartment under his seat and grabbed a pouch for himself. He crunched the bottom of the pouch, feeling the little rocky bits of whatever was in there as it began to heat up. He checked the label. “I have Columbian Sunrise. What have you got?”

“Hazlenut Amaretto.”

“How is it?”