Flight of the Falcon
(Or, That Rare Thai Flying Fish)
Fandom: Kiss Tommorrow Goodbye
Category/Rated: E, or possibly [g]
Year/Length: ~3860 words
Spoilers: Doubtful. Only in the most generic way for Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye
Disclaimer: The characters of Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye belong to the Fox Network, even Minnow, who we heartily wish would go play in the road. We didn't make money, and Dustin is over budget. Go figure.
Dedicated: to the captain, crew and passengers on Lear Jet 35 N47BA. May you always fly high.
Author's Notes: Here be vomit.
Beta: Thanks to Shael, for emergency, very last minute beta.
Dustin picked up his jacket and briefcase, and started down the hall of Globe Pictures, stopping long enough to stick his head into Minnow's office. "Come on, Minnow. Jarred's waiting in the plane. I'll give you a ride. Can't wait to meet with these guys."
He began walking jauntily towards the exit. A couple of Japanese investors were interested in backing "Over the Edge" which was a long shot to begin with, heavy on the special effects. They were way over budget but the script was a winner. Mackey was calling for his head. Dustin *needed* this deal.
He called over his shoulder, "Your tooth feeling better since you got that filling, Minnow?" as he tossed his briefcase into the car and climbed in, starting it.
Minnow said nothing, merely casting a look of disdain over at Dustin prior to sweeping past him into the car. He had no intention of permitting Dustin to goad him. He was well aware that to do so in front of Jarred would be a big mistake.
At the small airport, Jarred sat in the cockpit of Globe's corporate Falcon 900, doing a final preflight check. He hopped out and went around the plane, checking the joints for signs of wear, and for loose parts. He hopped back in, noticing that the slight loosening of one of the window plates in the passenger cabin hadn't been fixed yet.
Even though it was small, under the right strain and pressure, the window would blow out. The right strain and pressure was pretty much any flight at altitude.
He felt a twinge of pilot's conscience, but only a twinge. Come on, this was *Minnow*. Surely, he could be forgiven this. It was going to go down so well. No one would know.
He leapt back into the cockpit, and checked to be sure the oxygen masks were in order, before heading back to see that indeed, the bar was stocked.
Dustin was Jarred's copilot; Minnow would have the passenger cabin to himself. They had told Minnow he was their point man on this project, and so he'd need to get all his figures straight during the fight.
Having the cabin to himself, he'd have ample opportunity.
Dustin looked over at Minnow. "You look good. You'll knock 'em dead. You're really good at this stuff, you know?" he pulled away from the curb.
"I can't believe they're interested. What a stroke of luck!"
Fighting late afternoon LA traffic, Dustin put on his sunglasses and turned on the radio. The weather was forecast to be clear and sunny, and calm.
About 20 minutes later, Dustin pulled into the private airstrip and parked the car a few yards from the business jet. Jumping out, he waved to Minnow. "I'm gonna be up front with Jarred, so you'll have the cabin to yourself. There's a full bar, so make yourself comfortable."
Minnow had pretended to be absorbed in his statistics and figures during the ride out to the airport.
Ascending the steps into the body of the plane, Minnow felt a surge of pride at his own importance. He entered the cabin and took his place, placing his laptop and his briefcase beneath the seat and leaning back with enjoyment. This was the life. The perks of the senior executive were all coming to him.
Grabbing his briefcase, Dustin jogged to the plane, and climbed the stairs to the cockpit.
"Hi, Jarred. Thanks for doing this."
"Hey, man. No problem. I took aerobatics last year. This is like play for me."
Dustin nodded. It was true. Jarred was an adrenaline junkie. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for himself. He looked around, and carefully strapped himself into the copilot's seat, making sure the shoulder harness was snug.
Jarred was amused. "You trust me, don't you?"
"Yeah," Dustin muttered, fastening the buckle. "It's the G forces that scare me."
Dustin had already put on and adjusted his headset, and reached automatically for the preflight checklist. It was standard procedure for the copilot to read off the items, and the pilot repeated them as he made the preflight adjustments. It left a smaller margin for error.
Errors were a dicey proposition in an airplane.
Jarred had the engine on idle, and he revved it a bit, to warm it up.
Dustin began reading, and Jarred began flipping switches and turning dials. Dustin was impressed. He'd never remember it all.
"Flaps 50..."
"Flaps 50," Jarred repeated, pressing the button that controlled the hydraulics.
"Cabin pressure 10... wait, Jarred. What are you gonna set it to? Can we just leave it *off*? I mean..."
"No, sorry," Jarred said. "I know you hate Minnow enough to kill him, but this isn't a suicide mission. We don't pressurize at least to 10,000, when we get up there, the leak opens up and the fuselage explodes. I don't think so. We've gotta be a little sane about this."
"I hate to disappoint," he added with a wry grin.
Dustin grunted, and returned to the checklist.
"Parking brake off," Dustin said.
"Parking brake off." Jarred wound up the engine, and taxied out to the runway. It was a small airport, but it still had a tower.
"Niner Five Zebra Fifty Alpha Zeta... you are next in line for takeoff. Proceed to the runway, and hold short for an inbound Cessna."
Jarred nodded. "Roger." As he taxied out, he could see the Cessna, coming in low and slow, beautifully really. They watched it land, and then turned out onto the runway.
"Wanna do the honors?" Jarred said to Dustin.
Dustin smirked. Picking up the PA microphone, he clicked it on, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are next in line for takeoff. The weather is clear all the way to Las Vegas, and we anticipate a smooth flight. However, we'd appreciate it if you would remain in your seats with seatbelts fastened, until after the climb out. At that time you may move about the cabin and enjoy the many beverages available for your enjoyment, as well as any snacks. We'll ring the cabin after the climbout."
Dustin replaced the mike, smirking.
"Like a pro," Jarred said. Then, to the tower, "This is Niner Five Zebra Fifty Alpha Zeta, requesting the runway for takeoff."
"Roger, Niner Five Zebra Fifty Alpha Zeta. The runway is yours. Takeoff and maintain a heading of two niner zero."
"Roger. Two niner zero."
"Request altitude for climbout?"
"10-Zero," Jarred said.
"Niner Five Zebra Fifty Alpha Zeta, you have requested altitude 10 zero on a heading of two niner zero. Your requested is granted. You're cleared for takeoff. Have a safe flight."
"Roger," Jarred replied, powering up and starting the takeoff roll. "Thank you for your hospitality, Santa Monica."
Dustin leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable.
He looked over at Jarred, and smiled, then watched the airport buildings fly by at an increasing speed. He always loved takeoff. There was something thrilling about defying gravity.
As the plane lifted into the sky, Jarred said, "We're gonna climb out nice and slow, Dustin. I'm gonna go out over the Mojave, then down toward the buttes and canyons in Four Corners, and back to the Mojave. On the far side it's fairly dead airspace... that's where the Naval test pilots fly their X planes. Straight outta Dreamland."
Dustin looked around at the array of instruments. So foreign to him... it was second nature to Jarred. He'd flown with him before, but the cockpit was still intimidating to Dustin.
"Relax. I'm not gonna do anything you won't know about. But now would be a great time to check the pneumatic seal on the cockpit door." Jarred flipped a few buttons, making the cabin pressure in the main cabin dip to sea level for a second. The cockpit pressure held steady.
At this altitude, Jarred knew, Minnow would be hard pressed even to notice the drop.
"All right," Dustin said into the PA mike at Jarred's nod, "we're climbing out at 10,000 feet. You may remove your seatbelt and move about the cabin as you like."
He clicked off the mike.
Jarred said, "LA center, this is Niner Five Zebra Fifty Alpha Zeta, requesting a cruising altitude of two-five-oh."
"Roger, Niner Five Zebra Fifty Alpha Zeta. Climb to two five oh, maintain your heading and airspeed."
"Roger, Center."
Ah, the trappings of success, Minnow thought. Absently, he glanced out of the window, and then went to inspect the bar. Might as well start the way we mean to go on, he thought.
Opening the liquor cabinet, he selected a fine old brandy, and poured himself a generous snifter, before closing up the door and going back to his seat. Opening up his laptop, he sat for a few minutes, sipping his drink, before picking up the microphone.
"Hey, Dustin, how long will it take to get to Vegas?"
Jarred answered for Dustin. "Ah... Minnow. Actually, with the tailwind, we're ahead of ourselves here. So I'm just gonna go down by the canyons, show you guys. The sun casts the most beautiful colors on the canyon walls this time of day. We've got a good 10, 15 minutes to play with. You guys have no idea what a treat you're in for."
Beside him, Dustin looked at the altimeter. 20,000 feet. Jarred reached over. "You put the scopolamine patch on, as I said, yes?"
"Yeah." Jarred had told Dustin to put on a scopolamine, or scop patch a half hour before takeoff. Scopolamine was a nervous system paralytic, but in low, transdermal doses, it was used to treat motion sickness.
Minnow had not been given a patch.
Jarred banked right at 30 degrees, sharply and suddenly.
"Jesus, Jarred. At least warn me next time, huh?" Dustin said as Jarred flew past the sheer outcropping and leveled off, flying low to the surface of the mesa, flying under the radar.
"Whoops. Sorry, Dustin. Shoulda warned you there. But look out to your left. It's lovely scenery."
The altimeter slowly began to drop as Jarred descended. Ahead of them was a deep canyon, with steep walls. Jarred angled the plane, and began flying low and fast. Dustin could see the textures and dips in the rocks.
"Jarred, you're too close!"
"No," Jarred said. "I'm not."
In the back of the cabin, Minnow had fortunately been holding onto his glass as the plane veered, but it hadn't prevented some of the liquor it contained from slopping over to land on his keyboard. Now, muttering curses, he was attempting to clean it without impairing its function.
Jarred grinned as Dustin looked a little peaked. "You'll never be in any real danger."
Ahead of them, the canyon opened up, yawning like a maw. The descent would be steep and long, but Jarred abruptly pulled up. "Hang on," he said to Dustin.
He did a 360 spin, and pulled hard right, flying toward another outcropping.
"Look out the window, Minnow," Jarred said into the mike. "What do you think?"
Minnow, who had not been strapped in, was attempting to pick himself up from where he had fallen. His head was bleeding from colliding suddenly with the bulkhead, but he was in no danger of becoming infected. The brandy that had covered him would make sure of that. His computer was lying on the floor too, and he was livid.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed the intercom and screeched at Jarred.
"What the fuck do you think that you're doing?"
Grinning, Dustin took the mike. "Ah, sorry about that, Minnow. Next time we'll warn you. Kinda forgot you might not be strapped in... Jarred was just trying to show me what this plane can really do."
"Yeah," chimed in Jarred on his headset PA. "Most people think of the 900 as a pure business jet, but give her her wings and she really opens up."
He winked at Dustin as a red light wicked on. "Right on time," he murmured.
"What's right on time?" Dustin said.
"The pressure leak. We've stressed it a bit." At Dustin's worried expression, he said, that's actually a good thing. We can get this thing over with quickly now."
"Just so we don't end up as people pat," Dustin muttered dubiously. "We won't," Jarred replied jauntily, banking sharp right to even out, skimming the surface of the butte.
"Jarred! You couldn't be more than 500 feet away from the ground!"
"100, actually," Jarred replied as they overflew the butte. Below them, the yellow sienna colored ground opened up, and Jarred grinned.
Minnow had dragged himself to the seat, and struggled into it, feeling rather sick. Fumbling with his seat belt, he managed to get it buckled, and sat rather dejectedly, looking out of the window.
It suddenly dawned on him that he could see the ground very close indeed. He grabbed the mike, and shrieked to whomever was listening.
"For fuck's sake! We're going to crash! Do something!"
Unable to resist, Dustin said, "Is there any way I can check on Minnow?"
Jarred smiled. "Thought you'd never ask." He pointed to a closed circuit TV, turning it on. Dustin was pleased to see Minnow looking rather sick. He grinned. "Show me what you got," he said.
"Yes, sir," Jarred replied. The ground was now 10,000 feet below them and receding as Jarred climbed out and over the Mojave Desert. "Now for the fun part. Tighten your seat belt."
Dustin didn't need to be told twice. He yanked the straps on the harness back as tight as they would go. "Okay."
The altimeter read 20,000. The red light was flashing, and a mechanized voice repeatedly said, "Cabin pressure, cabin pressure." Jarred hit the button with his finger and the voice was silenced, only to start again as Jarred put the plane into a steep dive, fast, straight down.
The wind rushed by and the metal thrummed with the stress it was under.
Dustin closed his eyes as they hurtled down faster, faster. He couldn't take the sight of the ground, racing to meet them.
There was an unnatural sound as the metal airframe was subjected to stress in places it was never meant to have to take it.
Sitting in his seat, clutching to the remains of his laptop as though it were a talisman, Minnow had closed his eyes, trying grimly to prevent his gorge from rising as the plane plunged down towards the suddenly hostile earth.
He couldn't bear it any longer. Opening his eyes to see the desert coming towards him at a seemingly impossible rate, he screamed, a high-pitched scream, unlike his usual quiet voice.
Words had failed him, but he could still scream, and his increasingly ragged voice could be heard as the plane finally leveled out. There was a sudden, loud, popping sound, and the window beside Minnow's head blew out, leaving him sickened and sweating. As his computer, his papers, and his jacket, discarded on boarding the plane, flew out through the window to scatter themselves over the desert as if they were a flock of some surreal bird, Minnow suddenly realized that he had wet himself.
His voice could no longer be heard over the howling and whistling of the air against the window, but it was obvious to the men in the cockpit that he was no longer enjoying himself.
"All right," Jarred said. "We gotta land this thing."
Dustin nodded.
If they didn't land soon, the cabin would decompress completely, and Jarred's earlier statement would come true - the fuselage would give due to the air pressure. He scanned the horizon... there it was. The Navy airstrip.
Switching the VHF dials, he radioed in that he had an emergency, asking permission to land.
The military complied, due to the severity of the problem. They weren't always so hospitable to civilians.
Slowing down the airspeed considerably as they started a smooth decent in from 3000 feet, he smiled at Dustin. "You owe me."
"Yeah." He looked around. "Shit. What are we gonna tell Mackey?" He was the true project head for "Over the Edge," and it was going to be his ass in a sling when he didn't return with the signed backing agreement.
"Mackey," said Jarred, as the wheels hit the tarmac, "is your problem."
Dustin sighed. Jarred was fun, but he had no sense of responsibility.
The plane taxied to a stop, and Jarred cut the engines.
In the back, vomit covered and smelling equally of brandy and urine, Minnow would have thanked God for his safe return to terra firma, except that he was passed out cold. Fright had won, and he had finally subsided into oblivion.
Dustin unstrapped himself. "Awful quiet back there," he noted.
Jarred looked at the TV. "The vomit will also be your problem," he said. "I'll take care of Minnow. But you take care of the plane."
Dustin groaned. "Jeez."
Jarred had gotten up, and unsealed the cockpit door. It opened with a pneumatic hiss.
He walked back into the cabin, trying hard not to breathe. He got a whiff anyway, and almost threw up himself. Not, he reflected, that it would really be a problem at this point.
He walked over to Minnow and shook him gently. "Minnow? Hey, Min-man?"
At first there was nothing. Minnow lay and gargled, his face green beneath the streaks of unspeakable residue. Jarred contemplated leaving him there while he went to get assistance, but as he was deliberating, Minnow suddenly came to, and sat up, hurling invective at him in a hoarse and broken voice.
Jarred looked at Minnow. In a concerned voice, as if ascertaining that Minnow's mind was intact, he asked Minnow for his name, the President's name, and the date.
Minnow glared at him, red eyed and livid. "My name is Minnow, the President of the company is Mackey, and you are toast, you utter asshole!"
"I take it you didn't enjoy your flight, Sir," said a husky voice from the doorway. Dustin smirked at Minnow. "But we need to know if you're quite all right. What day is it today, Minnow?"
"It's April 1, you simpleton," snarled Minnow. "And you're going to die. I'm going to kill you."
Dustin shook his head. "What do people do on April First, Minnow?"
Meanwhile, Jarred had turned to Dustin, grinning.
"What?" Dustin demanded.
Jarred shook his head.
Minnow had stopped talking, had stopped moving, and merely sat, his face now an interesting color somewhere between green and purple. He was demonstrating a remarkable tendency to froth at the mouth.
Jarred walked over to Minnow. "Come on, Minnow. Let's get you off this plane and cleaned up." He put out a hand to support the man.
Dustin held his nose and said he was going to the hangar for cleaning supplies. "I am so dead," he muttered on his way out.
As Minnow clambered stiffly from the cabin to stand on the runway, he began to make plans for taking the bus back home.
Jarred jumped out after Minnow nimbly, and put an arm around him. "Come on, you." He headed toward the hangar, but went into the airstrip base. It was a tiny place, and he nodded to the seargeant at the desk.
"Sick passenger." "You the Falcon?"
Jarred nodded a bit sheepishly.
"Decompression. You're very lucky, son, if your worst problem is airsickness."
Just then Dustin crashed through the door, scowling. "I am so toast. Jarred, Jarred..."
"I took care of Minnow," Jarred said. "I didn't say anything about anything else." He grinned, the grin of the cat who'd swallowed the canary. "Happy April Fools' Day, Dustin."
"Oh, you are *so* dead," Dustin said.
Minnow hadn't paid any attention to the conversation. He stood, a sodden and shaking mess, and the sergeant finally led him away to get a shower, promising to lend him a set of fatigues to wear pending his reunion with his wardrobe.
Dustin glared at Jarred, dejectedly.
"Now what? I am so dead. Thanks a lot!"
Jarred smiled. "That's the best part, Dustin. My uncle, at Nellis? He's going to totally redo the plane this week. Total overhaul. It needed one anyway."
He looked up as Dustin said, "That's great, but what about the investors? I'm dead for that, too."
Jarred reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew several sheets of paper. "Dustin. They signed last night. I flew out to Las Vegas last night."
Dustin looked at him, dumbstruck. "You - you mean you - this whole week, this whole time, you..." Dustin couldn't help it. He began to laugh, huge laughs that rocked his body.
"This whole thing was a setup?" continued Dustin.
"Yep. Happy April Fools' Day, Dustin," Jarred grinned. Then Dustin walked over and put his arm around him.
"You're something else, you know that?"
"Hey, I'm gonna remember you said that," Jarred said.
"Yeah, well, just don't let it go to your head," Dustin replied.
They were distracted by Minnow, who had returned to the front office where they were standing. He stumbled over to Dustin and held something out to him. When Dustin rather unwisely extended his hand, Minnow dropped into it a mess of small, white fragments.
"I guess you might as well have this," he croaked, moving away painfully.
"What?" Dustin looked at the fragments, then back at Minnow. "What is this?"
"It's my new tooth," responded Minnow. "Spend a fucking fortune on bridgework and then some jerk comes along and screws it all up. Damned thing exploded when the window blew out. I'm gonna get you for this, Yarma. Your life won't be worth living..." He was still mumbling when he finally left for the shower.
Dustin shook his head. "Minnow, Minnow." He turned to Jarred, and laughed again. "Hey Jarred. You know a ground up tooth is an aphrodisiac? You could slip it into Eva's drink next time."
Jarred looked at the proffered fragments Dustin was now holding out to him. "Really?" he asked hopefully. "You think?"
"Jarred," Dustin said with a smirk, "What day is it today?"
The End
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