Chapter 46

Ed’s turn:

It’s not quite dinner time yet, but me and Dana drove out to the Pavilion a little early this afternoon and walked in, and Cindy and Nikki were sitting at a table. They were drinking coffee, and Dana grinned at me -- we could both smell that it was fresh brewed, so we went to get a cup -- gotta love those thick (restaurant grade) china cups.

Nikki said, “Pull up a chair, junior airmen -- how are classes coming?”

Dana said, “I’m digging through some ugly history right now -- interesting, but it certainly ain’t engineering. And speaking of history, I have a question about some recent history. What do you know about that crash over at Tuscaloosa?”

There was a plane crash, a twin-engined Piper Navajo. It’s pretty close to our (I did say ‘our’) Cessna 402. The news circulated pretty fast. Fatalities. A few details. And Cindy’s lost engine incident was fresh in everybody’s mind, and aviation safety, well, I’m way far down the ladder for qualifications, but I am learning as much as I can.

Cindy said, “We were just talking about that, and doing some math. It was a Piper Navajo, and it’s pretty similar to our 402. The 402 is a little bigger, and has a little more cargo and weight capacity, which is ideal for our cargo-hauling needs. The Piper is a little faster, but other than that, the birds are very similar.”

Nikki said, “A bit more speed wouldn’t help us much, and if you really want speed, you have to step up to turbine engines, which are much more expensive to operate and maintain. We’ll stick to pistons, for lower cost.” She giggled. “I haven’t seen Johanna’s dad come offer us twin turbines for a dollar.”

Cindy said, “Yeah, there is that, too. But I looked it up. The 402 has about 200 nautical miles more range, and that’s the number that’s puzzling us. The Piper evidently had both engines out, and didn’t burn, so it must have been out of fuel. The flight from Florida is well within range of Oxford, so it makes no sense.”

Just then Wally walked in, got a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table with us.

Kim said, “Wally, we’ve just been talking about that crash over at Tuscaloosa. What do you think happened?”

Wally said, “I’m pretty sure they ran out of fuel.” He nodded to Cindy. “Have you run the numbers yet?”

Cindy said, “We were just talking about that -- they had plenty of range to make the trip, so it makes no sense at all.”

Wally said, “Think again. What’s the range of the Piper?”

Cindy said, “We checked it out -- it’s 1011 nautical miles, or 1162 statute. But the flight from Kissimmee to Tuscaloosa is only 498 statute. What’s your point?”

Wally said, “You’re right, but the flight from Oxford down to Kissimmee is 637 miles statute. When you add 637 to 498, what do you get?”

Nikki said, “Umm -- that’s 1135. Oh, I see. 1135 miles isn’t much less than 1162, which is the range of the bird. So you’re thinking they didn’t refuel at Kissimmee?”

Wally said, “We’ll never actually know, since there aren’t any survivors to tell us. But how much would you bet that maybe they figured the FBO guys refueled it? Then, when the gauges showed him about 1/3 of a tank, either he didn’t believe the gauges or didn’t check it out?”

Cindy said, “But Wally, the first time Dan ever took me up, he made me check the fuel with a wooden stick, and we ALWAYS do that -- it’s part of the walk-around.”

Wally said, “Cindy, everyone SHOULD do that, but a lot of people don’t. Ladies -- all of you, please remember: Don’t EVER leave the refueling to chance. Either do it yourself, or watch while it’s being done. And always “check it with a stick” -- primitive, but it could keep you from ruining your whole day.” He looked at my love. “Dana, my dear, are you paying attention?”

“Hai, sensei,” she answered. He smiled.

Kim said, “Wally, if you’re at, say, 3000 feet and both engines quit, how long do you have to find a place to land?”

Wally looked at her a few seconds and said, “Kim, not much time -- just the rest of your life.” Nobody laughed.

Cindy’s turn:

I don’t know that I like the present situation. Tina and Susan chased Alan and both Dans out of the office and into the field to get a handle on some work that seemed to be piling up faster than we can handle it. We’re scratching hard to find good technicians and field engineers, but that takes time.

And me and Nikki ... Los Alamos. After we dropped a crew off in Oklahoma. I feel almost decadent flying that twin-engined Cessna 402 with just me and Nikki on board, but the trip was fast and uneventful.

Now, let’s talk about amenities. We have rooms at a national hotel chain. Dan made the reservations in the name of 3Sigma. There’s the little issue of getting from the airfield to the hotel, then the daily round-trip from the hotel to the National Laboratory itself.

That’s why Doctor Stephen Tansley met us at the airport. He’s a short fat bald guy. We’ve – that’s he, me and Nikki – talked and video conferenced quite a bit and we’ve been here before, so we’re really not much of a surprise. The new angle is that when I’ve been here before, Dan was with me. I left Dan at the hotel working in their business center after he dropped me off on the National Laboratory campus.

Nikki was the same way. Now, though, with no ‘adult’, we were relegated to bumming a ride, or so we thought.

“I can’t get you a government pool car,” Steve said. We can call him ‘Steve’ now that all three of us are PhDs. “But here’s the deal. You guys drive me home and keep this one. I’ll drive my pickup truck while you’re here. That gives you wheels.”

“You’re getting rid of us,” Nikki said with a giggle.

“Nooooo. You know that you’re invited to dinner with me ‘n’ the wife tonight. She told me that she wants to meet the two of you.”

“Your car?” I squeaked.

“Why not? ‘Uh, oh, gee, Steve, you SURE you want a couple of teenaged girls driving your car?’” he said in a falsetto, then in his natural voice, he continued, “And those two teenaged girls are Doctors Granger and Richards and they flew their own plane in this afternoon.” He grinned. “Tell me that I’m using faulty logic.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“It’s got GPS so you won’t get lost.”

“Nice to have. I was gonna use my iPhone,” I said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said.

Nikki and I made short work of tying the plane down, then we let Steve take us to the hotel to check in.

I let Nikki do the honors there. She’s eighteen. The desk clerk balked, but she pointed out that, first, the room was reserved with a corporate account, second, we had a representative of Los Alamos there to vouch for our character and third, each of us tossed a pile of government ID cards and badges on the counter.

The desk clerk called the manager. We got the room.

After we put all our gear into the room, we followed Steve back out to the car and drove him home. Nice home.

“You wanna come in and meet the kids? We can kill time here, Sandy will be home in half an hour, we can talk a bit while she changes clothes.”

Sandy’s a nurse. “Let’s go meet the kids,” Nikki said.

Steve and Sandy’s two kids, girl, fourteen, boy, thirteen. Their dad called, they dutifully came into the living room and met us.

The five of us were talking when Sandy came through the door. She got a hug from me and Nikki and kisses from her husband and children. It’s refreshing to see that. So many kids distance themselves from their parents when they hit the teen years.

When Sandy came out after her shower, we all left for dinner, Nikki driving the car Steve loaned us, me in the passenger seat. The Tansley bunch was in Sandy’s big SUV, proceeding slowly, us following.

We laughed and talked through dinner at a great Mexican restaurant, then parted ways as we headed back to the hotel.

My sister. We had a single room with two queen beds. I dunno why we bothered. I’ve been in Nikki’s bed and vice versa, a not infrequent result of both husbands being out of town.

We did use separate beds while we did our evening Facetime sessions with our husbands. I miss my Dan. I know that Nikki misses hers. We’ll be out of here Friday morning, though, making the swing around across Texas into Oklahoma to pick up the techs working there for a weekend at home.

The next day we got up, had the hotel’s complimentary breakfast, then got on the road. On the way, I called Steve. We needed to coordinate our arrival at the security office so we could temporarily register our names with Steve’s car.

Security’s stout. I know the guards, at least a couple of them, remember me and Nikki. We are rather memorable, you know. Still, all the proprieties were observed.

Inside, it was meetings and conferences all day Tuesday. We analyzed graphed data, mused about departures from expected results, outlined further trials and experiments. By the end of the day plans had been made to meet more of the bunch for dinner. I see many miles of bicycling and treadmill and kayaking and other more valuable aerobic activity in my future.

Wednesday we did a bit of lab touring. No, there’s nothing that’s totally Cindy Richards’ or Nikki Granger’s work in there, but I know that anything having to do with moving large DC pulses, that’s OURS. I don’t know if we’ll solve that whole fusion thing, but if we do, there’s gonna be a little bit of the South there in the middle of it. We may look into getting our signatures on a microchip in there somewhere.

We went dinner Wednesday evening, again, with a herd of people from the lab. This evening’s venue was a restaurant that featured live music. Most of the adults – sadly I’m STILL not one – were drinking beer and having a good time.

“We can beat that music. Wisht your Dan and my Dan were here. We’d show ‘em,” Nikki said.

I agreed. Still, the band looked like they were enjoying themselves, and all that did was make me want MY Dan.

Thursday was more conferences and group work. I don’t get treated like a curiosity any more. I do get a few ‘Cindy, what’s YOUR take on this approach?’ questions.

The next morning we’re up early, breakfast at the hotel again, then drive our borrowed car back to its owner and let him drop us at the airport. We gave him hugs and promised to work on a next visit.

Preflight. Double-checked fuel levels. They’re right up to the filler neck, just what we need. Baggage properly stowed, then we’re strapped in. Nikki’s watching closely, her hands and feet lightly touching the controls as we take off and climb out. The landscape turns sere as we course across Texas, heading to pick up our work crew for a weekend at home. I know that this means I’ll be round-tripping them back next week, but really, it’s not a problem. The ‘new’ feeling, the idea of me flying this big twin-engined bird, hasn’t worn off.

Nice thing? I have my hours for my commercial license. I’ve got the credit for the written exam. And I’m three weeks away from my birthday.

Two hours later we’re easing down in Oklahoma. The guys are there waiting for us and they know the drill, where the baggage goes, the lack of in-flight bathroom, so by the time I’m finished topping off the tanks, they’re ready to get on board and buckle in.

The only interesting part of the flight home is that it’s summer thunderstorm season. A mile above ground, though, you can see the storms from a long way off. I know to stay out from under the overhanging anvils of thunderclouds, and I know way better than to try to match my plane’s ability to climb against a thunderstorm’s downdrafts. Our track homeward is a series of zig-zags around a few storms. From my vantage, we’re threading our way through cloud canyons, magnificent structures of white and grey.