The Ghosts of Dax Dufort

Absolute stillness. Silence. The predawn hour was the time that fear and loss and guilt played cruelly with his mind. Regret ruled, easy and seductive. He had reached too far. Expected too much. Friends died because of it, families torn apart because the job was more important. Today was the end of it. Dax Dufort breathed deeply, shook the mood off.

Dax wrapped his hands around his favorite coffee mug. He took pleasure in the shape and weight and warmth. This was real. He could touch it. He savored the morning’s first sip of fresh brewed hot black coffee. “Ah…my goodness,” said Dax. He closed his eyes. “That’s good.” At his feet Dog grumbled, rolled over and began snoring. Barf the cat hacked and threw up on the floor.

“Thank you,” said Dax. He smiled. “Good morning to you, too.”

Every morning Dax and Dog hiked across the rolling sage hills just west of the facility, at the base of the massive volcanic plug that dominated the western skyline. Dax felt the sun’s early promise of another blasting, battering day of heat on his face. The scent of moist soil and decomposed plants gave way to herbal sage. The volcanic rock smelled minty metallic as the sun rose.

From his vantage on the outcrop he looked out over the desert basin, miles long and wide, framed on all sides by torturous tall mountains. An ancient lake bed, now dry and absolutely flat.

Today, gleaming white ultra-modern buildings sprawled wide north and south, just east of basin center. But Dax did not see it as it was today. This morning he remembered when he—when they—first came here years ago.

At basin center a small collection of worn and dusty tents and two oven-like Quonset huts were all that could be mistaken as living quarters. Offset to the right three large hangers were enclosed by two imposing rings of chain link fence, barbed wire woven at the top. A wood frame scaffold that served as a flight control tower stood out a hundred yards from the enclosure.

To his right, at the far end of the lake bed was where Tommy “Chaos” Ricklan had disintegrated in a burning fireball, a bad ending for the first flight of a several million dollar prototype aircraft. In the sky directly above him was where Bobby “Beast” Kasey had broken yet another speed record, a half-minute before his aircraft shattered into pieces from internal vibrations.

My ghosts, thought Dax. Shadows he couldn’t let go. He glanced over his shoulder.

Good morning to you, said Chaos and Beast. 

Dog sidled up to him. Dax shook himself back to the present. “Okay, Dog?”

Dog’s eyes said: Food. Sleep. That’s my plan. You?

Dax looked back out over the basin and this time he saw it as it was today. “Complicated,” said Dax. Dog looked at him reproachfully. On purpose?

Dax watched a small but growing crowd of people mingle aimlessly outside Hanger One. A low rumble from his right resonated through the basin. A large cargo turboprop was coming around, turning from base leg to final approach. Dax watched long enough to confirm it would land on the secondary runway, not the main. No routine traffic was allowed on the main runway on the day of a test flight.

“Media. Spectators,” he said to Dog. Dog whined. Dax nodded. “That’s right, Dog. Unbelievable.” They hiked deliberately, without hurry, back to the house. The ghosts of Dax Dufort followed close behind.

***

“We should have had this thing in the air an hour ago,” said Dax precisely, with anger. “But instead we’re waiting on the media, which never in all of creation have been allowed on this site, let alone on the day of a test flight.” Phone to ear, Dax walked briskly down the flight line toward Hanger One, complaining to Director Breekstone.

Breekstone's reply was long-winded and rambling. Same tired old nonsense. Dax caught the words transparent and budget and orders, but not much more. Another useless, exhausting conversation. Dax felt like his career was made of them.

“What if…” said Dax. “What if it all ends up a gigantic flaming crater?” Dax shook his head. He flashed back to the burning pyre that consumed Chaos Ricklan.

Ouch, said Chaos. Not my finest moment.

“Make it work,” said Breekstone. “Today is the culmination of years of work. Billions of dollars. Today’s the day you bring it home.”

Sounds like a threat, thought Dax.

“Get the press manual?” said Breekstone. “A guide. To help you.”

“You mean my script? So I don’t go off message?” said Dax. “For thirty years you lot didn’t want the world to know this facility or I existed. Now, my last day, a critical test flight… now you want me to…talk to people.” Dax shuddered. Unbelievable.

Breekstone yammered on. Dax heard something about public relations and budget and good luck. Or something. He disconnected.

Let’s light this thing up, said Beast. Let’s have some fun.

We died for this, said Chaos. So, we’re invested, you know?

Dax cut through the crowd outside Hanger One. A number of tightly dressed suits he had never seen before were on camera giving interviews, pretending to be experts about the project and the facility.

Careful, my friend. Things get glitchy they’ll be the first to demand your head, said Beast. 

At the door was Mikey Savior, head of security. He and his team were heavily armed, as usual. Mikey looked from Dax to the crowd and back to Dax like what the hell? Dax shook his head, affirming the craziness of it all. Further down the flight line the turboprop’s engines shut down in front of Hanger Twelve.

“Mikey, when the media get here,” said Dax. “Shoot ‘em.”

Mikey’s hand flexed on his weapon. His eyes were steel, his face set in stone. Dax remembered that Mikey tended to take things literally.

“Uh, that’s a joke, Mikey,” said Dax, with some concern. “Right?”

Mikey reluctantly nodded.

Inside the hanger crews worked methodically, quietly and confidently. This was more like it. His heart rate leveled, his breathing eased. Esmy Riot joined him as he approached the aircraft. The air was sharp with the smell of fuel and oil and electronics.

“Okay, boss?” she said. “You look tired.”

“How’s the list?”

“Down to fifteen issues.”

Dax nodded. Not bad, really.

Fifteen is kid’s play, said Chaos. We’ve flown with worse, yea?

“Um…they want to interview you here.” said Riot. She motioned toward the aircraft. “In front of…the Director suggested it…”

“He’s an idiot,” said Dax. “You didn’t hear me say that. The interview will be in the conference room.”

“Confirmed,” said Riot.

“I’m worried, Esmy,” said Dax. “So many distractions. Too many variables. Is everyone staying on task?”

“That's affirmative,” said Riot.

“Uh, double-check that Mikey doesn’t…”

“Shoot the important people?”

“Yea. Bad optics, right?” said Dax. “Gotta look good for the media outlets.”

Chaos said: Is my tie on straight? 

In the pilot’s ready room Tony “Greyhound” Spirillo was oxygenating, prepping his blood for high altitude. Dax poked his head in. Tony nodded. Dax kept moving. He knew pilots needed time to get themselves mentally focused.

Beast said: That’s right. Pilots gotta work it out for themselves.

Dax continued to worry about the media circus, the VIPs watching. They never did it like this. Flights were always top secret. Private. Only people essential to getting the job done. Today, it was a Hollywood gala.

“Unbelievable,” said Dax as he walked up the stairs to the conference room.

Unbelievable, Chaos and Beast crooned in agreement.

***

“Walk us through what we’re going to see today,” said Katie Bing, a reporter with national visibility, very popular and known for provocative stories.

She’s cute, said Beast.

“In thirty minutes the most advanced high-altitude stealth reconnaissance aircraft ever built will taxi out there…” Dax pointed vaguely out the window, toward the end of the runway, “…make one gawdawful racket and lift off right about…” Dax motioned toward another point further down the runway, “…there.” He smiled. “That’s all you’ll see for ninety minutes, probably longer. It will take Tony, the pilot, five or six minutes to get to target altitude, just over eight-five thousand feet. He’ll open the throttles step-wise until he’s moving at target velocity. We’ll monitor some stuff down here for a while. It’ll take a half-hour for him to bring the bird down to final approach.” Dax leaned back, casually crossed his legs. “Then we all go out for pancakes.”

“How fast will you go today?” said Katie.

“Really, really fast,” said Dax.

“Is it dangerous?” said Katie.

“We do everything we can to make the flight safe. By the time we’re flying, we’re confident it’s as safe as it can be,” said Dax. But he thought: nobody in their right mind does this stuff.

We’re all freaking crazy, agreed Chaos. The rush…it’s like a drug.

Adrenaline junkies, said Beast.

“Think you’ll set a record today?”

“We’re pushing it past previous levels of performance,” said Dax. “If everything looks good, we’ll set a record or two.”

The interview continued, Soon, the topic turned to him.

“This is your final test flight, is that right?” said Katie.

“Last flight,” said Dax. “Last day.”

“Is it worth it?” said Katie. “The challenges…the deaths?”

“It’s complicated,” said Dax. He glanced at his watch. Riot should be coming to rescue him in a few minutes.

“Make it simple,” said Katie Bing.

“The only thing that matters right now is getting this flight up and back safely,” said Dax. “It’s been that way for as long as I’ve been here. No reason that changes today.”

“What’s next for Dax— ” said Katie.

“Success belongs to the team,” said Dax. And the failures belong to me, he thought. The ghosts are mine to live with. That’s okay. They’re good people. My friends.

Right back at ya, said Chaos and Beast. 

The door opened, Riot was there. “Time,” she said.

 ***

There was a lot of handshaking and congratulatory sounds going on outside Hanger One. Amateurs need to step aside, thought Dax. The pros are getting ready to fly. Get the pilot back on the ground in one piece. That’s the key.

Once Mikey Savior and his team had cleared that area out—grudgingly without shooting anyone—Dax and his team were ready to open the hanger doors and bring the aircraft out into view on the tarmac.

Tony Spirillo was fastened to the aircraft now. Sealed in his cockpit he looked more astronaut than pilot, ready to light the burners and blast off in this oddly flattened, elongated tube flanked by enormous jet engines. The vehicle said outer space, not secret factory in Pasadena.

Weeks of fine tuning. Days of endless checklists. Hours of ruthlessly checking the checklists. The bird would fly with fifteen known issues, probably none critical, which wasn’t that bad in the world of experimental aircraft prototypes.

Tony positioned the aircraft on the runway and let loose the dogs, as he liked to say. The blast of the take-off run was unnerving, disorienting, even terrifying. Spectators new to the experience found themselves nauseous and unbalanced. A moment after wheels up Tony pitched the craft skyward in a heart-stopping climb that everyone, even the old pros, found hard to believe. Tony disappeared in the high blue haze, afterburners white hot. The noise rolled away down the basin.

That’s what I’m talking about, said Beast. Whew!

Dax hovered over technicians in the computer room where critical metrics of both aircraft and pilot were monitored in real-time. He watched intently as the data display updated dynamically.

Chaos said: This is the day, my friend. Long time coming.

This room, at least, was still a proprietary space. The numbers rendered on the monitors were top secret, eyes only, gotta kill ya if you see them. Six minutes in, Tony was at altitude. All eyes in the control room fixed on the Mach number and external heat flux. Both rose steadily. It was a race between the two. Would Tony hit record speed before the aircraft melted?

“Ah…data lost…no there it is…” said Esmy Riot. “Numbers all over the place. External temp approaching limit…at limit…signal lost again.”

“Call him,” said Dax. Atmospherics, probably. A lot of weird things happen at those altitudes and speeds, he reminded himself. 

“No comm,” said Riot.

“No signature,” said the radar console.

Dax dared not breathe. Outwardly he remained expressionless. On the inside, every nerve ending was screaming bloody murder.

Breathe. Chaos nodded reassuringly from over his shoulder. Breathe.

Dax considered the possibilities. Tony probably retracted the aircraft’s hard points for stealth mode. Or he could be smoldering ashes.

“Call him,” said Dax. He tried to keep the edge off his voice.

“…past five…rough ride…” It was Tony. The comm was fragmented, but it was there. Dax breathed.

“…confirm…six…” said Tony. He wanted to keep going.

Go for it. It’s what we’re here for, said Chaos and Beast.

“Go,” said Dax.

They waited.

“Data back online,” said Riot. “Maintaining altitude. Mach climbing. External heat high…data stream choppy…”

“…go…seven…” Tony wanted more.

Go for it, the ghosts of Dax Dufort were yelling now.

“Go,” said Dax. He felt the excitement, the burning to hit the next high, to push just that little bit more. So close.

“…seven…confirm…eight…” said Tony, voice calm and businesslike. He was obsessed, driven. He couldn’t let go. He needed more.

Chaos and Beast jumped up and down and chanted: Go. Go. Go.

“Surface temperature climbing fast,” said Riot. “Dangerously.”

The ghosts whispered to Dax: This is what we lived and died for.

“Go,” said Dax. Reaching for the record…was it too much?

Riot glanced up at Dax, concerned. She signaled go to Tony.

“…eight…” said Tony. “Shaking…heat…”

“That’s a record,” said Riot.

“Okay. Let’s bring Tony home, shall we?” said Dax, as if he was on his way to walk the dog. “He’s earned a plate of pancakes, I think.”

“No comm…no metrics…” said Riot.

Long moments passed.

“No comm…no metrics…”

“No signature,” from the radar console.

Long moments. It was always this way. Reach just a bit too far. Dax closed his eyes. Was it worth it? He waited. He did not want to carry the weight of another ghost…

Chaos and Beast said: Wait for it. Tony’s got this.

“…descending through seven-zero…smoothing out…controls responsive…” said Tony. He took it to the boundary and brought it back. He didn’t need to be told to bring the bird down. He was done for the day.

Everyone in the room exhaled, released their pent-up tension.

Dax was exhausted. He stepped weakly to a chair and sat, heavily.

Chaos said: That was freaking awesome.

Beast said: You did it my friend. Thank you. 

Suddenly all the living souls in the room were shaking his hand and pounding him on the back and congratulating him. He stumbled out of the control room, drenched in sweat, into the empty hanger. He shook his head to clear it. Then Dax Dufort walked out into the brilliant sunlight.

“Congratulations” said Katie Bing, holding a microphone up for him. "A new record, right?"

“He’s not home yet,” said Dax, not one to celebrate too early.

“You gonna tell us how fast? What's the new record?”

“No,” said Dax.

“But it was a good flight, right?”

“As soon as Tony climbs out of that thing, yes.”

They stood there, staring up, into the distance. It took forever but finally there he was, a dark spec growing larger, on course and in the beam. Tony eased the aircraft onto the runway smooth as silk. Drogue chutes out. The aircraft rolled easily to a stop. It was over. The silence was deafening.

“Was it worth it, Dax?” said Katie Bing.

“People died to get us here, to this day,” said Dax. “The lives of friends. Deaths I’m responsible for, families broken into pieces.” Finally, he relaxed. “We broke records today. Created new possibilities. Advanced our craft. It’s what these pilots do. It’s what we do.” He broke away from the commotion, took a moment with Tony, refused a call from Breekstone. Dax Dufort then walked home to his friends Dog and Barf. His job was finally done. 

***

Later that evening Dax and Dog sat on their favorite outcrop overlooking Hanger One. It was cold in the shade, the sun setting behind them. The airfield was deserted. Just like old times. Except this was the last time.

Thank you, said Chaos and Beast. Thank you for finishing what we started. Thank you for making sure our deaths weren’t for nothing.

“I’m leaving, you know,” said Dax.

It’s time.

“I can’t take you with me,” said Dax. “But I won’t forget you.” Dax looked around at the lengthening shadows that darkened the vast desert basin. My gosh, he thought. I’m leaving this place. Until today, almost nobody in the world even knew it existed.

Job’s done, said Chaos.

Closure, said Beast. Finally.

We’ll find our way home from here, said the ghosts of Dax Dufort.