"Not as bruised as you're going to be Air Force, not as bruised."
"Can we get back to my starting a nuclear war, which might be, oh, a tad more important than me having a talk with my girlfriend?" It's my moderate sarcastic voice.
She hits me again. "There is not going to be a war, and it's not your fault."
I don't say anything, hoping not to get hit again. We walk through the main building, cross the tunnel and wander down to Terminal 7. We go into the office to check in, but no one is home. They must be out on patrol. I have a random thought.
"How much trouble would I get in if I did a non-job-related Internet search before we went out?" She looks at me funny again, I bend sideways to keep away from her fist.
"What are you searching for now? You can't buy cojones, you have to grow them."
"Very funny. I need to figure out who Alan Shepard is."
"Was."
"Was?"
"Why?"
I explain last night's visit from Fog Dude. She picks up her phone and speed dials. Who ever's on the other end answers.
"Dad, I'm here with Simon. He got on to Alan Shepard, don't ask him how it's too stupid to relay, and we've got to get to work anyhow, but please give him the one minute rundown." She hands me the phone.
"Hi, Mr. Perez." I don't know what else to say.
"Alan Shepard. First American to ride a rocket into space. First person to hit a golf ball on the moon. Made a sub-orbital flight, that's into space, but not fast enough to orbit, in 1961, then landed on the moon in 1971, hit two golf balls, the longest drives in golf history. Is that enough? Kiana said to keep it short."
"Thank you, sir, that was absolutely perfect. Here's your daughter."
"Thanks daddy," she says and hangs up, puts her phone away and looks at me with "the look."
"It means I can get from here to Europe by going suborbital, which avoids the little problem I had with windows breaking."
"So, the fog man is helpful, besides being an idiot."
"Sometimes. How does your dad know so much?"
"Because he's the best dad ever. Actually, he's a space nut, loves everything about it, real and fictional."
"That's where your Galactica interest comes from."
"My Galactica, my Asimov, my Star Wars, my Star Trek, my ‘What are you doing, Dave.'" She does a nice impression for the last part.
We do take the time to check the forensic reports again. The shoes came back negative for finger prints or DNA, and there is a simultaneous sigh of relief from two very happy people in blue. And our names have not popped up on the list of people whose fingerprints were found inside the building. Mine should be there regardless, Kiana's should not, yet neither of us is present so far.
Locking the office, we head down the concourse. I ask Perez to tell me what was in the article on China. It's sitting at home in my ereader, delivered electronically this morning, but I can't wait 12 hours to read it. She says that a building was destroyed in North Korea, that the Koreans claim it was a school, but the US says was a part of the nuclear bomb program. There was a US delegation in Bejing the night of the bombing, talking to the Chinese government about helping end the North Korean nuclear program. Chinese air dropped bombs were used to do it, so the North Koreans assume the Chinese did it to make us happy. They bombed the nearest Chinese air base in retaliation, and now the "pissing match" has started.
"Fuck me."
"That's Jen's job. You read the paper every day, you should have known that the State Department was there. And you should know that they'll get over it. North Korea needs the Chinese to survive, and China needs to keep the Koreans in their fold."
"OK, but still more dead people on my hands."
"Air Force, you took this mission on, the idiots in the fog knew there would be casualties, even if you didn't. It's not your fault."
"Feels like it is."
"According to the paper, you set the North Korean nuclear program back at least five years. Isn't that a good thing?"
"Yeah, except I won't be around to set it back again when I need to. I have to make permanent change, don't I?"
She doesn't say anything, and we go back to being police, helping with an abandoned suitcase, and taking a report on a stolen laptop. The folks at main check the video feeds, and discover that the thief is already on a flight to San Francisco. Airport police there are notified. The guy should get it back, eventually.
Lunch time we're once again eating on the flight deck of a parked jet, sandwiches today. We spend the time talking about whether to go to the Marquis and track the dirtbags on the 27th floor. Today should be their "shift change," four in and four flying out. We have to assume that they know that we know that they were reading our emails, so that trick is spent. We decide our only option is to let them make the next move. They have to come to us, it appears, and we'll let them. I am surprised by Kiana's attitude, I expected her to me more concerned.
"Perez, you are remarkable calm about this. They will come after us again, you know."
"And you'll be there, Air Force, you'll be there. But, it makes it even more important that you tell Jen, since we are putting her at risk."
That reminds me to call Jen when we take our afternoon break, to let her know I have something else to do tonight. She says hello, and then,
"You're calling to let me know that you and Kiana are going to go do police stuff tonight? She already called. Sounds totally boring, but I'm sure you'll have fun."
"Thanks," I am somewhat surprised, "You sure you're OK with this?"
"Relax, Simon, if I can't trust you with Kiana, I can't trust you with anybody. Besides, you are so not her type."
"Someday you're going to have to tell me what that is."
"Maybe. Talk to you later."
And with that, Perez and I are cleared for takeoff.
Chapter 16
We finish our shift, walk back over to Main and change into street clothes. She's got the black on black leather back on from two nights ago, I've just got a polo and slacks, my love for the cold unrequited. Out in the parking lot, I hand her a map, probably unnecessary, to the FreshBurger in Hesperia. It'll take her an hour or so to get there, or maybe 15 minutes, the way she drives.
"I'll be flying in," I tell her, "when we're done, I'm going to practice my Alan Shepard."
She takes my dinner order, something I hadn't thought about, and we're off, me to Anaheim. Ten days before Christmas, it gets dark early. I part in my favorite spot, change me, change clothes to put on my leather pants and jacket, and tiptoe through the molecules.
Perez is already parked when I arrive. It's dark enough that no one is likely to see me floating a couple hundred feet above the desert. She sits down, and I land behind the restaurant, the whole area quiet on a Thursday night. Tomorrow, it will be packed with folks headed to Vegas for the weekend.
I join her inside, she compliments my outfit, asks why I am not wearing shoes. When she's done laughing, we eat and walk together to the rear of the building. Perez looks nervous, the first time I have ever actually seen her that way.
"Ready?" She just nods.
I move in close, put my left arm under her right and across her back. She jumps a little and I put my right arm under her legs. Gently, I tease a few molecules, and ease us into the sky. She has a huge smile on her face. I rotate, see no one, and push us out into the desert at a nice slow speed. Her hair trails after us, mine refuses to move.
"Let me know if I'm going too fast," I try to sound powerful over the wind. She smiles and nods. It would take an hour at this speed to get to my boulders, but I know of another set of big rocks closer by. We're there in 15. I land and set her down as gently as I can.
"That was amazing." Her eyes are as big as her smile. I walk over, grab some big rocks, and play 10,000 pound rock toss. She's excited for five minutes, then starts to look bored.
"What else can you do, Air Force?"
I run over to her at about 150 miles per hour.
"What else?"
"That's it. Fly, be strong, run fast."
"Ooooh," she says, then makes her voice deeper and punches her fists into each other, "Hulk smash." She goes back to her normal voice. "They expected you to fix the world with just that?"
"Apparently."
"If you ever decide to buy a real car, you need to take me to negotiate for you. You have no concept of what that means. You needed a cool power or two, and you settled, Air Force, you settled."
"I don't think I could negotiate. There were balls of fog, and evil grass, and that staff thing."
"Next time, ask them for some balls, and not the kind made out of fog."
"I can sense stuff if I'm close by, that's how I know the bad guys are on the 27th floor."
"That and three bucks will get you a cup of coffee, not save the world." She's less impressed than she ought to be that I can lift the FreshBurger. Or maybe she's right, I should have thought this through better.
"You ready to fly back?," I ask.
"That I am, but take the long, scenic route please."
I take an hour getting back, changing altitudes, flashing through a small canyon at high speed, rolling down the freeway. She's breathing hard and happy when we land.
"You need to take Jen out and do this with her."
"I thought about it, but I had a dream where I dropped her onto the 405 and had to explain to her parents how she died." Perez finds that terribly funny. When she's done laughing at me for the nth time this evening, we go back inside the FreshBurger and drink some bad iced tea.
It's about nine when we walk out into the parking lot. She's about to get in her car, when I stop her.
"Except for the six hours I'm in my aircraft, I can be anywhere you are in 15 minutes. Keep your phone with you, and don't be afraid to use it."
She smiles at me, slides into the Mustang, and is gone.
I'm ready to try suborbital, but not at the expense of my clothes. I fly to my rock toss area, strip naked, and hide my clothes next to one of the bigger rocks. Then I corral some molecules, and brand their butts until I'm screaming (figuratively, not literally anymore) toward outer space.
Trust the light, I think, trust the light. I'm higher by far than I've even been when I know I should stop pushing. The earth is small below me, I can see from coast to coast. My brain wonders why I haven't come here before, the view is so spectacular. Then reality sets in.
I am in a hyperbolic arc, and rather quickly I am headed earthward, clearly traveling way too fast. And, there aren't any available molecules at this height. My physics memory says there are, just few, but my feet disagree. If I'm traveling at 12,000 miles per hour, it will only take 30 seconds to descend from my altitude to the ground. It may not hurt me, but I bet the crater would be huge.
Within seconds I am glowing red hot, pushing vainly against nothing. Finally, stray molecules start to bounce off my feet, and I am able to decelerate. I stop, floating, airplane high, maybe 35,000 feet. There's a cloud layer which I fly through, my naked hot self turning much of the water into steam. Then I see something I haven't seen. It's the Eiffel Tower. I really am a dumbass. Six months I could have been doing this.
With that thought, I frappe a few molecules and head back up, pushing just slightly off from vertical until I know to stop. I glide over my hyperbola once again, fall to earth, becoming hot to the touch again, until I brake to a stop back in Hesperia. I tell the light to shoot for London, and 45 minutes later, I am there, flying naked in the Thames. Then I make pea soup of the available molecules, and head back home.
The FreshBurger is closed, so I sit on the roof for a while, cooling off and relaxing. This has been the most fun evening of my entire life, and while I was naked during part of it, that was not required. I do need to talk to Jen.
I lift myself in the air, look back down at the FreshBurger and realize that my butt burned a pair of circles into the roof. Laughing, I go back for my clothes, and push for home.
My joy does not last. I turn on the news channel when I get home, to discover sporadic fighting between Chinese and North Korean soldiers, with more dead. I go running before the sun comes up, unable to shake the images, unable to absolve myself of responsibility. If this is the greater good, so be it, but I can't see it.
The Mountain Pacific office is a disaster area when I get there, a construction crew turning a few small bullet holes and a blown out panel of the table into an apparent demolition of the whole interior. Ms. Mankat is sitting in the chair I was using two nights ago, though I don't share that little tidbit.
