Chapter 10

Dan 1.0’s turn:

Office day. Not unusual, although 3Sigma’s power division has been in business for better than a decade now.

On one of the big monitors before me is an empty page for a drafting program. On the other is the client’s wishes for the electrical power substation he wants to move into the 21^st century. As far as I know, I’m at the pinnacle of electrical engineering – like the swirled, browned meringue on a perfect lemon pie.

I’m tapping out notes to the client document, getting ready to transmit it to one of our designer-draftsmen, where ‘men’ includes a chubby brunette mother of two who’s been working with us since she came out of community college with her associates’ degree.

A couple more lines of notes and <<BINK>> the file’s on the way to Mara.

I lean back in my chair, close my eyes. Deep breath.

Reverie. Over a decade ago, a power plant project pulled me to Alabama promising challenges and remuneration to go along with those challenges.

Summer in Alabama, so it was hot, and at the end of the day the RV park’s swimming pool beckoned. As that fish-headed guy says in the third Star Wars movie, “It’s a trap!”

I’m sooooo trapped. A tap on my cellphone shows me Cindy’s location. Today it’s the 3Sigma Robotics lab, so it’s likely that we’ll be in our house together tonight. I like that. Both of us are subject to travel quite often, and I have come to despise a bed without her in it.

I remember a dark, stormy night and an apparently frightened young girl seeking protection from a nasty thunderstorm, how she took control, announced that I was to be her first, and likely only, mate.

I can’t argue with her prognostication. She was a surprise from the first day when I met her at the pool, a little red-headed thing looking for a friend.

I started out as ‘friend’, then tutor, then mate, and she turned out to be like one of those Russian Matryoshka dolls, layer upon fascinating layer, innocent, alluring, then intelligent at a level that still leaves me and many others astounded. I smile. Satisfied.

Reveries come to an end. The alert sounds on my computer to remind me of a financial meeting in fifteen minutes.

From engineering nirvana to happy history to the bane of engineers everywhere – beancounters. I hate that, but it’s an awfully large number of beans, a fact that takes the edge off the displeasure. In today’s meeting we get Cindy and Aaron Kettler from the robotics branch and Geno Haugen from 3Sigma Transport.

As has often been the case, there’s a neck-and-neck race between robotics and traditional electrical engineering for production of revenue.

“Sometimes I feel like we’re a hobby,” Geno said.

“Don’t,” Anders said. “We know exactly what we expect from your bunch.”

“We have the industry’s best response times,” Alan pointed out. “And your bunch makes that economically viable.”

Geno shook his head. “You know that a large part of that is that I get pilots for a lot of my flights for free.”

I had to laugh. “And that’s ALL on you, Geno. YOU’RE the one that offered Cindy a ride.”

He shook his head again. “Redheads! You should’ve warned me.”

“Speaking of redheads, what’s the latest on Mandy and Captain Jack?” Anders asked.

All eyes turned on Cindy. After all, Mandy is HER sister.

My redhead is sometimes a kaleidoscope, sometimes akin to tossing a lit match into a box of random fireworks. You never know what’s going to pop first.

“It’s complicated,” she said.

“They’re still getting married, correct?” Anders asked.

“Oh, yes,” Cindy smiled. “The timeline’s kind of undefined.”

Connie Simmon’s turn:

Another Monday morning. I’m not feeling too mobile today. No, I won’t have to sit in my room and endure solitude. I could, if that’s the choice, but I’m a member of this community. I can check in with friends.

One phone call and “Mizz Lee” has brought more of Cindy’s cookies, to go with that odd tea they keep bringing me. “Lapsang” something. Dunno, but it has a flavor that’s a little odd. Smoky, kinda.

She said, “So Connie, big wedding coming up, I hear. Did they set a date, yet?”

My grand-daughter, Mandy. Sixteen. Oh, I know how many times and places exist where the subject of marriage for a sixteen-year-old girl would be wrapped in all manner of tragedy, sin and exploitation. Happily, something bent in the universe when Mandy was conceived by my daughter and a man who was taken by red hair and quirky personality. My daughter wobbled horribly off the tracks and didn’t marry that man, but I’m living in an apartment adjoining his family now, and that family encompasses Mandy, and by extension, me.

I said, “Lee, not yet. Actually, it was only a couple of days ago that he asked her, right after he got back from getting his pilot’s license. Lord, that airplane looks like it came out of the 94th Aero Squadron.”

Lee laughed out loud and said, “Connie, as I understand it, Mandy wouldn’t allow him to propose until he had his pilot’s license.”

We both laughed, and I said, “Lee, in some ways she’s much like Angela. Angie was pretty, and smart. I always worried that Mandy might mess up her life like Angie did, but somehow, she’s different. I’ve never figured out how they’re so different.”

“Connie, I never knew Angie. But I suspect some of it’s all about differences in environment. I could never provide an environment like this one, and neither could you. If you think about it, this is a place where “genius” is simply expected, and ordinary.”

Then, “Connie, I watched a few minutes of one of the History Channel programs a few days ago, and it was about Ted Kaczynski. Remember him? The Unabomber?”

I nodded, and she said, “The thing is that he was absolutely a genius -- math, in his case. They said he was tested once, and his IQ score was 168. Mind you, anything over 140 is simply off the scale. He got his PhD at age 20 -- does that remind you of anyone around here?”

I said, “Well, maybe Cindy, Nikki, and Dana. Dunno about Mandy yet, but she probably could.”

Lee grinned and said, “Yes, and maybe she will, but the thing is, they’re here, socializing with each other, being engineers, flying airplanes, all that. Ted never did any of that, nobody to talk to, no challenges, really. He withdrew into himself and became a monster.”

I said, “It’s a shame he didn’t show up at a place like this, but I don’t know of any other place like it. Well, maybe that bunch over in Louisiana, I guess.”

She said, “Connie, this place didn’t exist until Cindy and Tina dreamed it up. I’ve been wondering why THEY dreamed it up and Ted didn’t assemble anything like it.”

I said, “Lee, do you suppose maybe Cindy and the rest of ‘em are smarter than that Ted guy?”

She chuckled and said, “You’re probably right, but there are other differences. Ted came from an upscale family, upscale schools, all that. He looked at academia as a goal in itself. The girls came from more meager backgrounds, and they view all their education as tools for doing REAL work.”

Then, “You know what? I think we need to get Sim Weismann to work on this. He could put some of his students on it -- I’ll bet there are some serious papers in all that, and maybe a dissertation or two.”

“Yes. His daughter’s right in the middle of it all, Lee.”

“We’re in the middle of it, Connie. When my Dana uncovered this group, I couldn’t believe it. I guess the first indication is when Cindy flew down to Louisiana and bring us for a look. The deeper I got, the more surreal it seemed, until I sat there in the middle of it all.”

I sipped some of that wonderful tea, savoring the tendrils of aroma escaping the cup. “You’re right. I came into this in poor shape, almost a daze, when Bill scooped up Mandy. They’ve given me family and friends, and you know my story – I’d been written off after my stroke. I’m a miracle, Mandy’s a miracle, Bill’s a miracle, this WHOLE place is a cluster of miracles.”

Cindy’s turn:

3Sigma Transport operates on a shoestring. It’s a very well scheduled and supported shoestring, though, with a combination of planes to match some lucrative profiles, and some full-time pilots who handle a majority of the things we put on the calendar, but we have more planes than assigned pilots and for years now we’ve depended on qualified flyers from inside the 3Sigma community to handle overflow. We’ve got a good half-dozen pilots qualified on the PC-12’s and ME! PC-12 and PC-24 and a cluster of Cessna bizjets.

With those, I HAVE to take flights when I can to keep currency requirements.

We have a brilliant bunch of engineers at 3Sigma’s various businesses, but the ‘business’ end of things is sometimes a bit iffy when it comes to juggling family time and flying time and engineering time to cover all the bases.

Like trying to get Nikki and Dana schooled on the Pilatus PC-24. I’m kind of possessive about that plane. Geno and Don both razz me about it, but I tell ‘em that first, it was MY decision to buy the thing and second, with the transient characteristic of their full-time pilots, I didn’t like paying the five figures to send a guy (most of them ARE guys – ALL, really) to school for the PC-24 only to have him skip off to a job with a regional airline the first time one of them called.

So we’re in Dallas again.

Nikki’s turn:

Sitting here at Signature, waiting on Dana. I had a thought: “Cindy, this has a familiar feeling. When’s the last time you were almost kicked out of a class?”

She giggled and said, “It’s been a few years, and I deserved it. I was kinda making fun of my math teacher -- I knew stuff that she didn’t. Somehow, though, this latest thing -- well, it’s kinda the same. WE know stuff that he doesn’t, don’t you think?”

I chuckled -- this latest class on PC-24’s. OK, we got type-rated, and we got our ATR’s. But when we showed him some alternatives to HIS scenarios, we got, umm, “chastised”, you might say. He said, “Ladies, you get your certificates, but you have to do things the way we teach. The rest of you guys, do NOT follow their suggestions!”

Hmmph. This school -- Flight Safety. Simulators. We paid our money, and we got the paperwork. All the rest is trivial. We know it, and they know it.

I heard a muffled “shit” from across the room. Looked and saw a skinny brunette with a glum look on her face. I exchanged glances with Cindy, we nodded, and walked over to the brunette.

Cindy said, “Sister, you look like somebody just stole your dog. What’s going on? Maybe we can help.”

She said, “Ladies, you don’t want to hear MY problems. However, as it turns out, I DO have a dog, evidently. Can either of you recommend a good marinade for roast ex-boyfriend? Maybe charcoal-broiled?”