terminal. “Have you seen their release?”
“Right here,” she said as their flight plan appeared on a monitor. There was no arguing with the numbers, despite her mounting skepticism. “Sporty,” she mused. “Plane’s almost empty, inclination’s just about perfect. But what about all that fuel you guys tankered?” With the spaceplane nearly empty, dispatch had arranged for them to carry almost enough propellant for the next trip, saving time and money.
Grant scrolled down the screen. “It adds weight, but still not as much as a full cabin and cargo deck. Half of it will be burned off by the time they reach shutdown. They can definitely hit the velocity targets,” he said. “So what’s got you in a twist?”
Penny frowned. “Probably nothing.” As she reached for a calculator, they were interrupted by a call from the Chairman’s office. Grant hit the speaker button.
“Charlie, this is Art Hammond. Listen, Gentry thinks they have a good shot at scoring some records tonight on that charter. Give them whatever they need, okay?”
He gave Penny a wink and smiled. “Yes sir. We’ll see to it they get priority handling.”
“Good man. Make it happen.” Click .
“Reckon that settles it.”
…
Marcy crouched by the jetway entrance as she carefully inspected their flight’s catering order before a steward rolled it aboard. Her concentration was broken by a loud voice booming across the passenger lounge.
“Just what in hell are you doing here?” The voice carried a hint of an Australian accent.
She stood to find a rotund figure striding towards her, trailed by a small gaggle of apparent hangers-on. Oh no . She carefully masked her surprise. “I’m assigned to this flight, sir. Just making sure the catering’s been prepared correctly.”
“It had bloody well better be,” he said, motioning to someone who must have been a personal assistant who showed her their reservation.
Marcy checked it against her own copy of the manifest. It was as she feared. The same man whom she’d had to threaten with arrest on the flight in was the same man who chartered this trip: Colin Magrath, international media baron and well-known cantankerous old bastard.
“I presume we’ll have drink service this time,” he said peevishly.
She displayed her tightest professional smile. “Of course, sir. All in accordance with the conditions on your charter agreement,” she said, returning his paperwork.
“I don’t have time to read that bunk,” he said dismissively, and jerked a thumb behind him. “That’s what I pay these people for. Kelly, come here.”
A man with unruly brown hair in a weathered leather jacket came forward, carrying a large canvas travel bag over his shoulder. “Martin Wade Kelly,” he said, extending a hand. “Transportation manager for Magrath Media. I believe they requested a jumpseat pass for me.”
She tentatively returned his gesture and looked once more at the manifest. Sure enough, it showed him seated up in the cockpit. Even for a private charter, that was highly unusual. “Well then, we’ll need to get you introduced to our flight crew. All jumpseat riders are subject to the captain’s approval.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t,” Magrath interrupted. “I’m paying for this ride. Park your bum wherever you want.”
“It’s okay, Colin,” Wade said as he tossed a reassuring wink her way. “That’s standard airline practice. These people don’t know me from the man in the moon. What’s their guarantee I’m not some wild-eyed terrorist?”
“Because those loopy bastards don’t pay a million dollars for exclusive-use flights,” he shot back.
“I’m sure there won’t be a problem with it,” Marcy said. I hope .
…
Tom shook his head in dismay. “Do you know who authorized him?”
“Mr. Hammond,” Marcy said, handing over the manifest. “Last-minute addition at Magrath’s insistence.”
“Is he accounted for in the payload?”
“He
“Right here,” she said as their flight plan appeared on a monitor. There was no arguing with the numbers, despite her mounting skepticism. “Sporty,” she mused. “Plane’s almost empty, inclination’s just about perfect. But what about all that fuel you guys tankered?” With the spaceplane nearly empty, dispatch had arranged for them to carry almost enough propellant for the next trip, saving time and money.
Grant scrolled down the screen. “It adds weight, but still not as much as a full cabin and cargo deck. Half of it will be burned off by the time they reach shutdown. They can definitely hit the velocity targets,” he said. “So what’s got you in a twist?”
Penny frowned. “Probably nothing.” As she reached for a calculator, they were interrupted by a call from the Chairman’s office. Grant hit the speaker button.
“Charlie, this is Art Hammond. Listen, Gentry thinks they have a good shot at scoring some records tonight on that charter. Give them whatever they need, okay?”
He gave Penny a wink and smiled. “Yes sir. We’ll see to it they get priority handling.”
“Good man. Make it happen.” Click .
“Reckon that settles it.”
…
Marcy crouched by the jetway entrance as she carefully inspected their flight’s catering order before a steward rolled it aboard. Her concentration was broken by a loud voice booming across the passenger lounge.
“Just what in hell are you doing here?” The voice carried a hint of an Australian accent.
She stood to find a rotund figure striding towards her, trailed by a small gaggle of apparent hangers-on. Oh no . She carefully masked her surprise. “I’m assigned to this flight, sir. Just making sure the catering’s been prepared correctly.”
“It had bloody well better be,” he said, motioning to someone who must have been a personal assistant who showed her their reservation.
Marcy checked it against her own copy of the manifest. It was as she feared. The same man whom she’d had to threaten with arrest on the flight in was the same man who chartered this trip: Colin Magrath, international media baron and well-known cantankerous old bastard.
“I presume we’ll have drink service this time,” he said peevishly.
She displayed her tightest professional smile. “Of course, sir. All in accordance with the conditions on your charter agreement,” she said, returning his paperwork.
“I don’t have time to read that bunk,” he said dismissively, and jerked a thumb behind him. “That’s what I pay these people for. Kelly, come here.”
A man with unruly brown hair in a weathered leather jacket came forward, carrying a large canvas travel bag over his shoulder. “Martin Wade Kelly,” he said, extending a hand. “Transportation manager for Magrath Media. I believe they requested a jumpseat pass for me.”
She tentatively returned his gesture and looked once more at the manifest. Sure enough, it showed him seated up in the cockpit. Even for a private charter, that was highly unusual. “Well then, we’ll need to get you introduced to our flight crew. All jumpseat riders are subject to the captain’s approval.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t,” Magrath interrupted. “I’m paying for this ride. Park your bum wherever you want.”
“It’s okay, Colin,” Wade said as he tossed a reassuring wink her way. “That’s standard airline practice. These people don’t know me from the man in the moon. What’s their guarantee I’m not some wild-eyed terrorist?”
“Because those loopy bastards don’t pay a million dollars for exclusive-use flights,” he shot back.
“I’m sure there won’t be a problem with it,” Marcy said. I hope .
…
Tom shook his head in dismay. “Do you know who authorized him?”
“Mr. Hammond,” Marcy said, handing over the manifest. “Last-minute addition at Magrath’s insistence.”
“Is he accounted for in the payload?”
“He
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