Pillar to the Sky Page 13

  Bock chuckled, shaking his head.

  “Anyhow, I like investing in dreams. I always kicked myself for not putting ten thousand into him when we first met twenty years ago … Hell, I’d be retired now and cruising the sky in my own fantasy, an original P-51 Mustang, if I had fallen for his first sell job on me.”

  Gary chuckled at that.

  “I doubt that,” Eva interjected. “You’d still be here doing what you are doing right now.”

  He looked at her and nodded, acknowledging her wisdom and insight.

  “Anyhow, there’s the old joke about putting doctors into high-performance planes and our life expectancy. But still, it is a nice fantasy.”

  Another laugh.

  “Get that tower, pillar, whatever you call it, built and I am on my way. That was his pitch to me and some other doctors: the thought of geriatric research and life in low-gravity environments.”

  “Or maybe for Parkinson’s,” Gary replied. “Guess I’ll be thinking of that now as well.”

  “A good goal, Gary Morgan,” Bock said, leaning over to pat Gary on the shoulder again. “Maybe God’s way of telling us there are other purposes behind this tower as well. A very good goal.

  “So, you two. Go out to your car, have a good cry. Gary, play on this lovely lady a bit for some extra TLC, at least for a few days”—he smiled at her and actually winked—“and go back to work. We’ll meet weekly for a while to do some tests, see how you take to the meds, and you can keep me posted on the work.”

  He stood up, indicating their time was up. Without doubt, by now there were half a dozen other patients in the waiting room, waiting for news, either good or bad, and Gary knew they would receive the same understanding and compassion he had just gotten with this gentle, good man.

  “Since I’m an investor, though, no insider information as to how it is really going with the project,” Bock said with a smile, taking Gary’s hand with his left and Eva’s with his right. “You’re in my prayers; I’m one of those doctors that still believes in that, and honestly, I look forward to when we can one day do a consultation—up there,” and he nodded toward the heavens.

  “Yeah, part of how Franklin sold me was talking about the potential positive effects of low-gravity environments for patients who are no longer ambulatory. He wants me to consult on building the first clinic.”

  “And by then I’ll be a patient there, I guess,” Gary said, momentarily giving way to despair.

  “Perhaps,” Bock said, and now his voice was steady and forceful. “But it is worth thinking about as you work. Maybe you won’t get the tower or pillar, as Franklin calls it, built in time for you, but for others? I would rather like the idea. In my line of work, I see things every day that I want to change but cannot. Maybe you two are working on something that can change lives for the better that no one, especially all you engineering types, have even thought about yet. Gary, hope is what life is all about, so when you walk out of here, decide whether you are dying or going on with living. It is why I am telling you to hell with retirement: now go back to work.”

  Back at the car, Gary did not even comment about who would drive. He felt OK to do so, but the spasm he had had several days back—when he felt no control over his right foot, which just drooped—spooked him a bit on the idea. Eva made the gesture of offering him the keys. There were some aspects of her old Ukrainian upbringing that drove their more feminist-oriented friends wild at times, and his old insistence that he drive whenever they traveled together was one of them. But she did offer the keys, he refused, they got in the car, and ten seconds later she disintegrated into tears and was holding him close.

  “Why don’t we just take the day off and go home,” she gasped.

  He forced a smile.

  “No way in hell. We’re getting paid more in a week than we used to make in half a year. Besides, what do we do once we’re home? Sit and brood? Stare out the window at the rain?”

  But then he did look over at her with a smile, a bit of a twinkle in his eye. Her tears stopped and she smiled back.

  “Save that for later tonight, Gary Morgan!”

  And they both laughed and hugged each other.

  “Let’s go to the office.”

  “One thing, though,” Eva asked. “What do we tell Victoria?”

  That question had been troubling him, too, since he already knew before they went in to see Bock what the prognosis was. The last six months … what a whirlwind. On signing the contracts with Franklin, he never imagined there could be such a mountain of paperwork for a simple hire in the private sector, but this was more about a partnership than a simple employee agreement. Then they went back to Goddard to pack up. They put their house on the market only days later; with that aspect of the economy still tottering, the appraisal and sale left them in shock, even though Franklin pointed out that a week’s pay would more than make up what they lost in selling their home. Then it was off to the new home—some real sticker shock there—then moving, unpacking thousands of books, one of the treasured works a battered copy of de Camp’s Ancient Engineers that Erich had given him, then seeing Victoria off to college. And all the time digging into work on the dream, which now actually seemed real at last.

  Victoria. She had been home for two weeks at Christmas, and when she left it was even more painful than her first departure. At this moment it hit him hard just how much he missed their daughter.

  “We tell her the truth,” Eva said. “Besides, I think she suspected as well.”

  “‘As well’?”

  “She asked me before she left for college if something was wrong. Even mentioned Parkinson’s. Remember, your little girl still worships her daddy and watches his every step.”

  He smiled and now his eyes filled up.

  “She said she’ll solo within the week?”

  Eva nodded, not at all happy with that thought. They had signed the paperwork for her to join the flying club on campus, do ground school—which was worth three credit hours—and take flight lessons. In their conversation of just the night before, she casually dropped the word that she was about ready to solo, most likely this coming weekend.

  “I think, given the situation, we can hit Franklin up for a favor,” Gary said.

  “And that is?”

  “If his plane is free, let’s fly out to see our little girl and tell her face-to-face. I’d prefer it that way.”

  Eva’s tears vanished and she grinned with delight.

  * * *

  The Gulfstream touched down flawlessly on the main runway of the university. During the Second World War, Purdue had become a major training center for pilots, a program that had actually been started several years earlier by the legendary Amelia Earhart, for whom the field was named. He felt a swelling of nostalgia as the pilot crossed over the campus on final and he looked down on the place where he had spent four years of his life, building his dreams, and many a late night spending hours with the new Internet, exchanging e-mails with the Ukraine.

  As they taxied up to the small somewhat run-down terminal, a crowd was outside, braving the cold January day to greet them. Actually it was not so much to greet them: Franklin had insisted upon coming along, saying there were a couple of other stops they could make over the weekend, so it would be a working trip for the three of them; and besides he wanted to watch his “intern” do her solo.

  Gary had thought to call ahead, checking in with the professor, Brandon NeSmith, who was flight instructor for the air club. Yes, his daughter was ready to solo; NeSmith had figured he would take her around this Saturday—the weather forecast perfect for a new pilot—give her the classic “Give me three touch and goes” before getting out of the plane, and telling her to give him three more—on her own.

  There had been some reluctance at first on the professor’s part—he really did not like nervous parents hanging around—but when Gary explained the circumstances and who he would be coming with, the arrangement was sealed in a second.

  W
ind less than five knots, straight down the runway, a nice cold day, limitless visibility, and until the hatch of the Gulfstream opened, Victoria had no idea who was on the plane. There had only been an e-mail bulletin to all aerospace engineering majors late yesterday that they were invited to the campus airport for a surprise guest lecturer. Given that it came from the department chair, “invited” was all but an order, and as the Gulfstream taxied up, Gary could see a hundred or so students out early and braving the midwestern winter chill.

  Back in the days of the shuttle, a “surprise guest lecturer” usually meant a visiting alumnus who was now an astronaut dropping in for a visit, but those days were gone. Few outside of Purdue knew that the university had graduated more astronauts than any other college, including the military academies. It was the place that astronauts in training were sent for master’s degrees in aerospace engineering or whatever areas of work in space they were specializing in.

  They had agreed that Franklin would disembark first, since he was the surprise guest lecturer. Chairs had already been set up in a freezing-cold hangar. When the crowd caught sight of him, it was like a rock star making an appearance for the collection of campus “nerds.” Most had shown up because there was nothing else to do on campus on a Saturday morning. Purdue was definitely not a “party school,” and more than a few figured it would impress their professors if they did show. But as the hatchway dropped and Franklin stepped out, there was a flurry of remarks, a few shouts of surprise, and then even applause.

  Who did not know Franklin Smith, what with the hoopla and controversy raging around his insane project? Eva stepped out next: and one person did recognize her, Victoria breaking out of her group and racing up to embrace her, the two instantly in tears. Gary followed, and the joy of seeing his “little girl” simply overwhelmed him. She had grown so much in the last six months, maturing into such a beautiful young lady, taller by a couple of inches, with her mother’s dark blond hair, still worn long, but pulled back, tied off into a ponytail this morning, tucked under a Purdue baseball cap, so that it wouldn’t blow into her face if she hit some turbulence.

  With the consent of Victoria’s flight instructor, they had a few minutes to chat, but then he was dragging her off for her lesson. The last thing he or Victoria needed was anxious parents standing by the runway; the instructor reciting a cautionary tale where a student panicked and circled the field for a half hour, crying, while her father got on a handheld radio and started to cuss her out for embarrassing him. He finally talked the girl down, and the FAA had a long talk with the father about violations of radio usage. NeSmith’s firm policy, ever since the incident with the hysterical parent, was zero tolerance for their clinging presence, but given who was coming to visit along with Gary and Eva, he would relent this one time as long as they obeyed his rules without question.

  They had agreed that the crowd would follow Franklin into the hangar while Gary and Eva quietly slipped off with their daughter, and for heaven’s sake, NeSmith absolutely forbade them to say anything more than that they were dropping in with Franklin so he could give a talk, and there would be time later to catch up on things after she did her flight.

  Franklin was in his element. Those gathered round him pulled out cell phones to take pictures and call friends who had blown off the idea of actually getting up at nine in the morning to listen to some most likely boring guest speaker. This was the Franklin Smith, triggering the same reaction Steve Jobs used to when he showed up for the release of a new product at an electronics show. Franklin, knowing the game, gestured toward the open hangar, asking if there was any coffee to be found. Half a dozen students raced ahead for the honor of giving him a cup.

  Gary and Eva stayed by the Gulfstream. Victoria was reluctant to leave them, but her instructor shouted good-naturedly that he didn’t have all day and it was time to shoot some landings. As the two walked off, Brandon shot a glance back at Gary and Eva that was a clear enough warning. Gary forced a smile and waved. Eva held his hand and actually started to step forward.

  “Don’t,” Gary whispered.

  “I just want to look in the plane and make sure it’s safe,” she said, and he could sense her classic Ukrainian temper going up a few notches.

  “You take one step toward the plane and the instructor told me he’d cancel her flight.”

  “Then maybe I should.”

  “And Victoria will all but kill you. Today is her day; we’re just her parents and it’s time we stepped back.”

  He felt her tense up but then nod in agreement.

  While Franklin fell into an informal question-and-answer session around several coffeepots and some donuts set up in the hangar, Gary and Eva tried not to look nervous as their “baby” did a preflight check then hopped into the Cessna 172, suddenly all serious, went over the checklist, opened the side window to shout “Clear prop,” started up the engine, let the oil pressure and temperature build, ran through her magneto and carb heat checks, and then taxied out to the end of the runway. Danny McMullen, their pilot with the Gulfstream, came up to them with a handheld radio so they could listen in.

  “She’s doing just fine,” Danny offered. “No sweat. Today you see your girl get her wings, and she better not like that shirt she’s wearing.”

  “Why so?” Eva asked.

  “After she solos, the instructor and her friends will cut it off.”

  “All of it?” Eva cried.

  Danny laughed. “No, just the tail. It is an ancient ritual.”

  They listened as Victoria announced she was taxiing onto the active runway and would left-turn depart runway 28. Just hearing her voice like that sent a nervous shiver through both her parents.

  She lifted off easily in the cold morning air, climbed out, executed a neat left turn, then announced she was entering downwind for a “touch-and-go.”

  Danny, holding the radio, stood intently watching, nodding his approval as she turned from downwind, to base, to final. Eva turned away, unable to watch.

  “The instructor is still on board, Eva,” Danny said. “No sweat.”

  She came in, wings wobbling a bit, a touch of throttle sounding, then easing back as she “cleared the numbers,” touched down, tires squealing on the pavement, throttled up, and seconds later lifted off again.

  “Nicely done,” Danny said reassuringly.

  She did a second, even better than the first, tires barely brushing the pavement before throttling up, and then went around for a third.

  “Lafayette traffic. Seven-seven-seven Bravo Xray, downwind for runway 28. Full stop.”

  Danny grinned.

  “She’s ready.”

  The Cessna touched down, came nearly to a stop, taxied halfway back to the hangar, and stopped. Then the right door opened and Brandon got out.

  The plane turned, taxiing back to the end of the runway, and again her voice came over the radio; her parents could hear the excitement and tension. He had a flash memory of the day she first “soloed” on a two-wheeler bicycle, not aware at first that her father had stopped running alongside her and had let go. That look back over her shoulder, first grinning, then panic, and then ten seconds later tears as she held her skinned and bleeding knee, Eva furious with Gary that he had let go too soon. Then the argument about whether she should try again or not, until they both turned in amazement and saw Victoria flying down the street on her own, laughing with glee, having slipped from their grasp while they were arguing.

  It felt the same now, and Gary felt his chest swelling with pride that he had been blessed with such a wonderful, gutsy daughter even though his stomach was a bit knotted up. That was his “baby” out there, about to solo a plane for the first time.

  “Lafayette traffic. Cessna 777 Bravo Xray. Entering active runway 28, left-turn departure.”

  She started to throttle up, and Eva all but had a death grip on Gary’s arm as the plane lifted off.

  “Why in hell did we come here?” Eva gasped.

  “Our kid is getti
ng her wings,” Gary whispered, trying to reassure her.

  Victoria lifted off gracefully in the cold morning air, banked gently—no showing off—into a left turn, announced another turn on to downwind, then there was the cutting of the throttle. Eva’s head was now buried in Gary’s shoulder.

  “Damn my grandfather,” Eva said. “I never should have told her about him!”

  “She’s doing just fine, and, sweetheart, your grandfather is riding copilot with her, so don’t worry, it’s in her blood,” Danny offered reassuringly, and Gary smiled wistfully at the thought that his grandfather and father were up there with her as well. The skill to actually fly might have skipped a generation with him, but it was continuing now with his girl. Gary could see that Danny was watching intently, completely focused on every nuance of what she was doing. It was part of being in the wonderful “brotherhood” of pilots: they were delighted to see someone about to get their wings, watching intently, whispering comments, sending along prayers, and in their hearts remembering their own first moments “up there” alone for the first time, knowing the joy so best described by a poet who wrote “because I fly I envy no man on earth.”

  Victoria turned on to final, throttle back, flaps down, a bit of waver, a touch of a gust sweeping across the field causing her to lift slightly. A bit too much throttle for a moment, then settling back down, still fifty feet too high as she cleared the faded numbers at the end of the runway, settling down; then the squeal of tires, full throttle, and she was back up several hundred feet later.

  “Great, Victoria, now give me two more like that.” It was her instructor standing down by the runway.

  The second one was actually much worse: even Danny tensed up slightly as she came in too low this time, throttled up too much, and finally came to rest a thousand feet down the runway.

  “A little long on that, Victoria. Just relax,” her instructor clicked in.

  “It’s normal,” Danny finally said as she lifted back off, all three of them exhaling nervously. “They always try to come in and want to kiss the numbers to impress their instructor, then get a bit antsy when they start to come in short and give it too much throttle. I did the same thing. She’s got 6,000 feet of runway ahead of her, plenty of room in a 172 to land. She can play with short field landings later.”