he thought he had lost long ago.
He knew then that they weren’t going to make it back to Coronado.
ROCKET-TESTING FACILITY, AEROJET-GENERAL CORPORATION, RANCHO CORDOVA, CALIFORNIA SEVERAL HOURS LATER
W hat’s the latest on Patrick and Wendy, Helen?” Jonathan Colin Masters, Ph.D, asked by way of a voice check. The boyish-looking chief engineer and president of Sky Masters, Inc. was setting up a small video camera in front of a first-class seat inside a Boeing 727 airliner fuselage.
“What? Jon, are you listening to me at
all?”
his vice president and chairman of the board of directors, Dr. Helen Kaddiri, asked through the video-conference link. Kaddiri was several years older than Masters, one of the original founders of the small high-tech aerospace firm that now bore Jon Masters’s name. She tolerated his high-school anticsand laid-back style of doing business because Jon knew how to build systems that the government wanted, and he knew how to sell them—but this, Kaddiri thought, was going way too far. Worse, Masters didn’t even seem to care that he was risking his life just to sell a product. He was nuts.
“Can you hear me? Is this thing working?”
“I hear you fine, Jon,” Kaddiri said.
“I asked, have you heard anything about Wendy since the message that they were heading to the hospital?” Masters repeated.
“Jon, pay attention to what I’m saying to you,” said a frustrated Kaddiri. “We have other ways of doing this demonstration—”
“Helen, we’ve been over this a million times,” Masters interrupted. “I’m doing
this.
Now, is there any word from Patrick and Wendy or not?”
Kaddiri closed her eyes, unable to argue any longer. Nuts—that was the only logical explanation. Insane. Definition of a death wish, of childlike feelings of invulnerability.
Kaddiri was conducting the technology demonstration briefing at a videoconference center at the Federal Aviation Administration headquarters in Washington, D.C. Several research directors of the FAA, along with aerospace-manufacturer and airline representatives, were outside the conference room awaiting the start of Masters’s remote video demonstration, beamed via a two-way datalink using Sky Masters’s low-Earth-orbit satellites, called NIRTSats (for Need It Right This Second satellites), specifically launched for this demonstration. Jon was back in California, about to conduct the demonstration itself. He was literally sitting atop a powder keg, as both of them knew, and all he could think about was Patrick and Wendy McLanahan’s new arrival.
“Stand by one, Jon,” Kaddiri replied with an exasperated sigh, then turned to heir assistant, who made a phone call and came back with an answer a few moments later. “Wendy McLanahan was admitted to Mercy San Juan Hospital in Citrus Heights, east of Sacramento, this morning around five-thirty. Everyone’s doing fine,” Kaddiri responded over the videolink. “No other word. Happy?”
“She’s been in labor since five-thirty?” Masters asked incredulously.
“She’s apparently been in labor since
three
A.M. , Jon,” Kaddiri corrected him. She could see him wince at the thought of being in pain for that long. If Jon were a woman, she decided, he’d get one contraction and immediately want to reach up inside and yank the kid out himself. “Everything’s going to be fine. Wendy’s a tough girl, and they’ve got some good docs up there.”
“Excellent,” Masters replied, relieved. “Can’t believe they’re going to have a kid. After all they’ve been through …”
“Jon, pay attention to me for once,” Kaddiri said. “Forget about the McLanahans for a moment—
they’re
going to be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. This is nothing but a dangerous grandstanding stunt that is likely to get you killed. I know you don’t care about yourself or your fellow officers, so think about our company-your company. The company would suffer a tremendous loss if you were
He knew then that they weren’t going to make it back to Coronado.
ROCKET-TESTING FACILITY, AEROJET-GENERAL CORPORATION, RANCHO CORDOVA, CALIFORNIA SEVERAL HOURS LATER
W hat’s the latest on Patrick and Wendy, Helen?” Jonathan Colin Masters, Ph.D, asked by way of a voice check. The boyish-looking chief engineer and president of Sky Masters, Inc. was setting up a small video camera in front of a first-class seat inside a Boeing 727 airliner fuselage.
“What? Jon, are you listening to me at
all?”
his vice president and chairman of the board of directors, Dr. Helen Kaddiri, asked through the video-conference link. Kaddiri was several years older than Masters, one of the original founders of the small high-tech aerospace firm that now bore Jon Masters’s name. She tolerated his high-school anticsand laid-back style of doing business because Jon knew how to build systems that the government wanted, and he knew how to sell them—but this, Kaddiri thought, was going way too far. Worse, Masters didn’t even seem to care that he was risking his life just to sell a product. He was nuts.
“Can you hear me? Is this thing working?”
“I hear you fine, Jon,” Kaddiri said.
“I asked, have you heard anything about Wendy since the message that they were heading to the hospital?” Masters repeated.
“Jon, pay attention to what I’m saying to you,” said a frustrated Kaddiri. “We have other ways of doing this demonstration—”
“Helen, we’ve been over this a million times,” Masters interrupted. “I’m doing
this.
Now, is there any word from Patrick and Wendy or not?”
Kaddiri closed her eyes, unable to argue any longer. Nuts—that was the only logical explanation. Insane. Definition of a death wish, of childlike feelings of invulnerability.
Kaddiri was conducting the technology demonstration briefing at a videoconference center at the Federal Aviation Administration headquarters in Washington, D.C. Several research directors of the FAA, along with aerospace-manufacturer and airline representatives, were outside the conference room awaiting the start of Masters’s remote video demonstration, beamed via a two-way datalink using Sky Masters’s low-Earth-orbit satellites, called NIRTSats (for Need It Right This Second satellites), specifically launched for this demonstration. Jon was back in California, about to conduct the demonstration itself. He was literally sitting atop a powder keg, as both of them knew, and all he could think about was Patrick and Wendy McLanahan’s new arrival.
“Stand by one, Jon,” Kaddiri replied with an exasperated sigh, then turned to heir assistant, who made a phone call and came back with an answer a few moments later. “Wendy McLanahan was admitted to Mercy San Juan Hospital in Citrus Heights, east of Sacramento, this morning around five-thirty. Everyone’s doing fine,” Kaddiri responded over the videolink. “No other word. Happy?”
“She’s been in labor since five-thirty?” Masters asked incredulously.
“She’s apparently been in labor since
three
A.M. , Jon,” Kaddiri corrected him. She could see him wince at the thought of being in pain for that long. If Jon were a woman, she decided, he’d get one contraction and immediately want to reach up inside and yank the kid out himself. “Everything’s going to be fine. Wendy’s a tough girl, and they’ve got some good docs up there.”
“Excellent,” Masters replied, relieved. “Can’t believe they’re going to have a kid. After all they’ve been through …”
“Jon, pay attention to me for once,” Kaddiri said. “Forget about the McLanahans for a moment—
they’re
going to be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. This is nothing but a dangerous grandstanding stunt that is likely to get you killed. I know you don’t care about yourself or your fellow officers, so think about our company-your company. The company would suffer a tremendous loss if you were
Similar Books
