Chapter 10: Thursday Morning

Adam woke me before my PDA did. First I felt him get up, then I heard his alarm, then I drowsily watched him gather up his stuff. After that I listened to him taking a quick shower and going downstairs. It was six twenty.

I took a quick shower too, and then headed down to breakfast as I had on Tuesday. Walt and Adam were seated at the table and Cynthia was flipping pancakes. None of us was wearing a stitch; it seemed a bit odd. I mean, wherever you go, there are always some people wearing clothes.

Walt, like Cynthia, had the look of being twenty-five years old. That's an odd result of the injections; parents hardly look older than their teen-age kids. Of course, it was good for the libido, too. Walt gave me a quick once-over and immediately developed an erection. He didn't seem embarrassed by it, though, so neither was I. In fact, I kinda like knowing when I give someone an erection, even if they are a little older. I looked away before I started to get damp, though.

Adam and Walt were chattering like magpies about the stock dune buggy. Walt was asking questions as fast as he could think of them and Adam was mostly replying that he didn't know.

"Vivian, sit down and have some breakfast," said Walt after a few moments. I guess he expected me to do that without being asked but I was being careful. Anyway, by then, he was limp.

Cynthia, meanwhile, had served me a heaping stack of pancakes. At the same time she pushed a tub of butter, a rack of assorted syrups, a fruit mix of strawberries, blueberries, peaches, and a bowl of fresh whipped cream within reach. Then she held my shoulder for a second and told me to dig in.

"I was telling Vivian about your interest in old planes," Cynthia told Walt.

"When was this?" Adam asked.

"Yesterday evening, at work," Cynthia replied.

"Aviation has certainly advanced since the days of biplanes," I prompted.

"Well, flying isn't what it used to be," Walt observed. "It used to be something special. Young men signed up for the freedom and the glory and the respect. Being a pilot was a rare skill that people looked up to and respected. They came from miles away to see a man and a machine that could fly.

"Nowadays, pilots sit in the cockpit and watch a computer run the show. Other than training simulations, it's been years since anyone had to take over the controls. We're less than bus drivers. I think the airlines keep us mainly for the image and the publicity."

"Did you every fly one of those old planes?" I asked.

"No, I flew a couple of small planes in flight school, but even those were computer-monitored. The computers stopped you from making a mistake or deviating from the flight plan. The annual certification tests and the training that leads up to them are all on simulators."

"That's too bad," I remarked. "Did you ever see one, at least?"

"Nope. Never flew one; never saw one. They're all gone. I never even met anyone who saw one: not a genuine, original biplane."

"Well, you never know," I replied. "You coulda met someone who just didn't mention it."

Walt gave me a funny look just then, as did Adam and Cynthia. In a flash I mentally replayed the conversation and decided I was still OK. Even so, I tried changing the topic.

"I guess you're interested in dune buggies too, eh?" I asked.

"Well, yeah, but not like old planes," Walt reverted. "It's a shame, really. I mean, with all the color, and legends, and history behind those planes, you'd think someone could keep a few running. If it weren't for those old planes, and the men who built them, and the men who flew them, where would we be today? Still clinging to the dirt, that's where! You think we'd have ocean liners crossing the Pacific in a couple of hours? No, I don't think so. We have artifacts from the Egyptians, and the Greeks, and the Romans, and the Mayans and Incas that date back thousands of years!. But can we keep a few great old planes -- the dawn of aviation -- for even a hundred or a hundred and fifty years? No, and it's a damn shame. Do you understand what I'm talking about?"