David Palmer - Emergence

(Fascinating, wrong assumptions otherwise well-educated person can harbor: From exposure to cars, had assumed knew what controls do. Not so. For instance: Fore-and-aft stick movement governs pitch, thereby airspeed — period. Had heretofore assumed increased, decreased altitude. Throttle setting does that. Likewise, did not realize ailerons initiate bank, then back pressure on stick causes actual turn. Rudder’s sole function is to prevent yaw (skidding) caused by aileron drag — or induce deliberate yaw in sideslip when attempting to descend steeply without building up airspeed for short-field landing.)

Adam finally satisfied: For past hour had executed all maneuvers to perfection, plus performed “unusual attitude recoveries” (with more altitude under wheels) without incident. Gave me news by radio as concentrated on flying circles about point. (Tricky: To keep radius constant, necessary to increase bank angle when downwind, ease off upwind — adjusting constantly all the way around.)

Landed grinning ear to ear (Mr. Toad correct: “Glorious, stirring… poetry of motion… only real way to travel!”)

We spent night at airport. Next morning I topped up fuel; Adam inspected ship minutely. Finally I launched to fly search pattern.

Adam navigated from ground: I reported landmarks below; he plotted position on city map, gave headings to fly. (Alternative was wrestling with three-foot-square sheet of paper in open-bodied aircraft — ’tis to laugh.)

Flew at perhaps 300 feet; low enough to spot signs of current habitation: smoking chimney, laundry hung out, crop cultivation in midst of residential area, etc.

And flying is, as knew would be, marvelous (“Here today — in next week tomorrow… O bliss!”): In absence of Man, California skies now clear, crisp; visibility unobstructed, breathtaking (“Always somebody else’s horizon! O my! O my!”). Yielded to impulse; essayed snap roll.

“ ‘O stop being an ass,’ ” Adam snarled, patience exhausted. “I read it, too. Pay attention now; if you kill yourself I’ll never speak to you again.” Promised to behave. Leveled off, headed for initial search area, where had almost run over child.

Adam’s map ruled off in grids. Examined each methodically, flying slowly, giving anyone on ground ample time to drop everything upon hearing rackety engine (loud, indeed — acoustical earplugs genuine necessity), run outside, be seen.

Covered about six grids before happy discovery. Person ran from house as I passed, waving violently (do mean violently: jumping up, down, shrieking — actually heard faint cries at altitude, through engine noise, helmet, earplugs).

Circled back; pinpointed location for Adam, who jumped into rig, set off by road.

Then scouted landing conditions. Let down to 100 feet, performed slow flyby, studying surface; noting presence, absence of wires, poles, fences, ditches, etc. Detected nothing prohibitive; looked safe.

Set up approach assuming same wind direction, speed as at airport. Drifted down gently, skimming low over house at end of block, slowed to near stall, let big fabric wing float us down. Touched down 50 feet from very excited person — two excited persons: one large, one small.

Killed engine, unstrapped, extracted head from helmet, pulled out earplugs, stood…

And promptly swept off feet by hug-attack, replete with cryings, incoherent wet sobbings — more huggings, cryings, etc., etc. Managed to discern assailants both female. Happy to see them, too; but of course third, fourth encounters (respectively) with Somebody Else Alive: Old hat, you know; retained semblance of control.)

(Oh, all right; did get slightly teary…)

Eventually emotions subsided enough to swap preliminary information: Bigger one Kim Melon, age 25; smaller, daughter Lisa, age six. Family survived depopulation intact — husband, too, but accidentally killed shortly thereafter. Small boy seen earlier was Lisa (“ I’m not a boy …!”)

Adam arrived; greeting hysteria resurged briefly. Adam bore up bravely…

(Have I described Kim yet? No? Perhaps summary helps shed light upon Adam’s fortitude. Kim could serve as Judging Standard for California Golden Beach Girls: “five foot two, eyes of blue.” Slim, willowy, long-legged. Waist-length natural Swedish-blond mane. Pretty face — correction, beautiful face — double-correction, movie-star face. Plus last name describes salient physical characteristics with unintended hilarious accuracy. Pact with Devil not uncommon result when mortal female encounters Kim’s type. Heck, probably feel that way even if weren’t eleven; but as things are…)

Effect predictable: Adam suddenly very tall for his height; gained inches in chest expansion between one breath and next. Aged years demeanorwise in eyeblink. Casually mentioned is 18 (straight-faced) about half-dozen times during first five minutes: “… the same age my father was when he met my mother — she was a few years older, too.” Etc.

Would have been proud of me, Posterity: Smile never faltered; not once offered to help by reminding of stray facts somehow omitted during suave repartee. Not even when, during one of those casual mentions of his age, managed to drag in mine, and that I was “…a wonderful young person, incredibly talented in so many ways, but of course not old enough for a serious relationship…”

Glad chose path of forbearance, however: Later that evening, as Adam, beaming each time caught her eye, slaved away in trailer kitchen (invited to dinner first thing), preparing culinary triumph calculated to inspire wonder, dazzle palate (melt heart, dissolve inhibitions), Kim leaned close and, without moving lips, whispered, “I wish Adam would quit trying so hard. I’m sure he’s really a nice boy, but it’s awfully hard to tell. Any ideas?”

Several possibilities came to mind right away. Kim got giggles listening. Then offered own suggestions, most of which better than mine. Best of lot impractical at moment: Where would we get whoopee cushion on such short notice…?

Think I’m going to like her.

Know I’m going to like her, Posterity! We fit like peanut butter, jelly. Never had sister; never realized what was missing. But have one now. And doesn’t try to be big sister; not know-it-all; treats me as equal. Most comfortable person have met outside immediate family — but knew right away would work out: Terry adored both on sight. Tora-chan approved, also.

Especially Lisa: Tora-chan spends as much time lap-sitting with, purring at, following her around as he does Adam, his official new daddy. And Terry thinks she’s neatest thing since frozen pizza. Watches every move whenever in view. Already picked up several phrases from her; letter perfect, too, complete with lithp in right platheth. Unusual: Normally requires couple months to polish up, tack on new word, phrase.

On other hand, baby brother may be turning into idiot savant: Not sure when this started, but recently noticed vocabulary expanding. Just this afternoon, for instance, produced brand-new, quite elaborate word string, startlingly apt for circumstances — and can’t imagine when, where might have heard it.

Was inspecting Adam’s splint for proper fit, position, etc. Terry, on my shoulder, said, “Not too tight? Not chafing? How’re your fingers? Warm? Pink?”

Really amazing performance. And so appropriate. Always has had elephantlike memory for phrases, voices, related situations, of course. Maybe dredging past; perhaps something heard Daddy say.

Whatever source, am thoroughly impressed — practically took words right out of my mouth…

Been here about a week now, getting to know one another. Happy interlude, pleasant company.