Midnight 55

Beginnings

Towards the back of the blue-black hangar, the control crew were getting Midnight all ready to go again, checking control surfaces and fine tuning their interface with the compact three meter craft.  This part of the hangar was warmer than anywhere in the vicinity.  Returning from near-Earth orbit will do that.

Deron Devlin was at the joystick controls as usual. A black twenty-four year old former gaming champion and avionics expert, he'd graduated top of his class at Cal Tech two years early, and what control we had of Midnight in the air was all down to him. He had reaction times, physical responses and mind-speeds in the top 1 percentile of all humans tested, worldwide. Like he said, it was either this or the NFL, and he didn't fancy the head-shots you get on the football field.

Susan McNamara headed up the ground support tech-team. No slouch herself, she was a former IT specialist at Cheyenne Mountain, and had overseen the technical and networking needs of the Midnight project from the very beginning.  All the wiring, computers, command and interface controls we used were unique, and all were her designs. She was in her forties, in good shape, like Deron, brilliant.

Subito Akahashi was the supply and stores specialist. If his team couldn't source it within twenty four hours, no matter how obscure it was, then it simply didn't exist.

And Colonel Mike Hollier was the forces liaison. He it was who held the purse-strings.  He it was who reported mission results and data back to the Joint Chiefs' Office, the Pentagon and the President. Hollier was not in charge however, I was.

Able Baker was my handle. It was the only name any of them had ever known me by. My own handlers wanted it to stay that way.  I did too.  The less anyone knew about any 'real' life I might have, the better it was for all of us. All they knew was that Able Baker, or A.B. or 'Abe', stood about five feet nine inches tall, had tightly-curled dark brown hair, and spoke too fast, while also chewing gum too fast.  AB was androgynous to the point of being a perfect blend of genders, and it was my job to answer all the final questions and needs the team had.  In return, I knew I had the team's unswerving trust and devotion, which was what I needed to get this job done.

So yes, the 'job'.  I it was who had discovered Midnight, who brought it into this shadowy world, and I it was who could talk to it in ways the others could only dream of, despite their undoubted genius.  Abel Baker wasn't a bad name.  As I was the leader and as these were the call signs for the first two letters of several alphabets, it worked for me.

Susan McNamarra stood up from the console she'd been peering down at.  "The rain's letting up over the target area," she said, pressing the wire from air traffic control closer into her right ear. "Able Baker, we are ready to go into pre-launch mode again." I nodded.

The whirlybird crew, who had been joking and joshing with each other, high on late night coffee and gung-ho camaraderie around their machine, snapped to attention when the figure they too only knew as Able Baker, approached them.  I gave them their briefing; which was essentially 'evade', to which I might have added 'as long as you can', but didn't. Since the hanger itself was a simple space, and they were simple jocks, I even used a marker pen and whiteboard.

Black-capped heads nodded, notes of the mission objectives here taken by the pilot and co-pilot.  The gunners knew they were just along for the ride, still they listened attentively, respectfully. There were questions.  Everything was in good form.  Little did these meatheads know, they and their bird were the target, not the recorders or reporters of success. It was cruel, no doubt, but only the truly desperate, those who are experienced and truly fighting for their lives, will show you the extremes of flight trajectory, response and so on that we needed to prove ourselves against. They were the best, and in this game of tag, they were also 'it'.  Pass this, and we were in the clear after two long years of work.  Fail, and it was back to the drawing board.

So finally it was time to test the envelope, to push Midnight out to the fullest, all systems and responses go.  Nothing held back.  By dawn, these square-jawed jocks should be in the drink in the Gulf of Mexico, lost and abandoned, if still alive, and for sure nothing like as gung-ho as they were right now.  I couldn't feel sorry for them.  Midnight could replace them many times over.

'Time to rock and roll,' I said, and gave the sign.