Crash

     The canopy of the flight simulator hissed and snapped open. Hal jumped out, furious as he walked across the darkened hangar toward the door to the briefing room. The other eleven simulator pods opened and the other students sat up, watching Hal.

     Cowgirl sighed with sympathy. Hal had taken out the entire remaining enemy force in his maneuver, but he'd also been the only one on the team to "die."

     Carol frowned disapprovingly. Idiot, she thought.

     Hal stormed into the briefing room.

     "Why couldn't I move?!"

     Carl seemed surprised. "The simulator's programmed with all the physical limitations of the real world. If you couldn't pull off a maneuver like that in there, you couldn't do it in real life."

     "Yes I could! I know what it feels like when you push a plane to its limits, and that wasn't it. It just stopped moving."

     "Perhaps I could explain," a smarmy voice said from behind Carl.

     Hal leaned around Carl to see a tall, skinny man in his early twenties.

     "Who the hell are you?" said Hal.

     "Hector Hammond," the young man said, extending his hand.

     "Hector is the one who designed the simulation," Carl said.

     "The reason you couldn't bank that hard," Hector explained, "is that you were pushing the F-35 beyond its safe limits. Any farther and you'd be risking a loss of control at best, and damage to the craft at worst."

     Hal scowled. "So that's it? You programmed in the safety precautions? You have no idea what flying's even like, do you?!"

     Hector cleared his throat and straightened his tie, a smug grin on his face. "Well, I might not have your, uh, hands-on experience, but I know a thing or two about how the things you think you're flying actually work."

     Carl could see Hal's temper flaring and intervened. "Let's calm down for a minute. Hal, are you saying that the forced safety parameters were actually putting you in greater danger?"

     "YES," Hal said exasperatedly.

     Carl thought about it for a minute.

     "Alright. Hector, I want you to redo the simulation. Take the training wheels off."

     Hector looked like someone had insulted his mother. "What?! Mr. Ferris, you can't seriously—"

     "Do it, Hector."

     Hector suppressed his anger. "Sir, if Mister..." Hector checked the name on Hal's flight suit. "...Jordan hadn't tried a completely unsafe maneuver, this wouldn't have mattered!"

     "Tell ya what," Hal said. "You actually become a pilot, you learn to fly, you get into combat, THEN you tell me what does or doesn't matter."

     Hector half-sneered and half-chuckled. "You pilots are what won't matter in about five years."

     Hal rolled his eyes. Hector was one of those "automated drones will dominate warfare" people. The ones who assumed that technology was the real important factor, and pilots were too subject to human error.

     "That's enough," Carl said. "Hector, get to work on that sim. Hal, take a break. Now."

     Not far from Ferris Air, a stone pillar stood atop a small grassy hill. That pillar contained a radio antenna that picked up air traffic control signals from both Ferris Air and the nearby Broome Airfield, pumping out the audio through speakers. This was a mildly popular park, especially for plane enthusiasts.

     Hal sat atop the hill alone, staring out at Ferris Air.

     "Somehow I knew you and Hector wouldn't get along," Carol's voice said from behind him.

     "What are you doing here, Carol?"

     Carol sat down next to him. "You're under my command. It's my job to make sure you're good enough to fly."

     Hal glared at her. "Carol, drop it. I don't need your bitchy attitude any more than I need Hector being a smug jackass about how pilots are obsolete."

     Carol was surprised. "He said that?"

     "'You pilots won't matter in five years;' yeah."

     Carol rolled her eyes. "He told me the exact opposite yesterday when he asked me out to dinner."

     Hal raised an eyebrow. "What'd you say?"

     Carol smirked. "I told him to screw off."

     Hal chuckled. "Wish I coulda seen that."

     Carol sighed. "Hal, I'm sorry for treating you the way I have. I've just... I've just been so... buried under all this responsibility my dad's been giving me."

     "Why's he doing that, anyway? I mean, you're the squadron leader and apparently your dad's assistant? On top of being a cadet and a high school student?"

     "...He wants me to take over."

     "Take over what?"

     "Ferris Air."

     Hal wished he was drinking something so he could dramatically spit it out. "FERRIS AIR?!"

     "...Yeah. When he retires, he wants me to be his replacement."

     "I thought you wanted to be a pilot."

     "I do. I did. Maybe I still do. That's why I'm in the training program. But I also know that my dad needs my help."

     "Why does he need help?"

     Carol was silent for several seconds.

     "...Carol?"

     "...He's sick, Hal."

     Hal wasn't sure what to say.

     "Carol, I'm sorry. What is it?"

     "Cancer, we think. We don't really know yet; they're still doing tests."

     "Remember when we were kids?" Carol asked. "And our dads would bring us out here?"

     "Yeah."

     "I miss those days."

     Hal felt a sting of loss. "Me too."

     "You know, if your dad were... still around... my dad would have probably given the company to him instead."

     Hal turned to Carol, a little shocked. "...It would've taken a lot to get my dad out of a pilot's seat and behind a desk. But for your dad... he'dve done it."

     Carol gently grabbed Hal's arm. "We miss him here. We always have. He was a really good man."

     "I know."

Seven Years Ago

     The crowd cheered as the Javelin-1 soared three hundred feet above. Ten-year-old Hal Jordan could barely contain himself.
     "Control, this is Highball," a voice crackled over the radio.
     Carol rolled her eyes. Hal always got excited whenever his dad flew in one of these air shows. But it was always the same every time. Hal's dad would pull off all kinds of amazing stunts that only he could do in only the best Ferris prototype jets, the crowd would go crazy, and her daddy would be happy afterwards because of something he called "new investors."
     Hal couldn't believe how amazing his life was. He had the coolest dad in the world. Seriously, what did anyone else's dad do? Drive a bus? Do someone else's taxes? Coach soccer? Hal's dad flew at Mach 3 in jets that no one else had touched yet. He even brought Hal up with him once or twice; it was the most thrilling feeling Hal could imagine.
     "Control, I have a problem here. I'm leaking oil and the last of my torque pins just failed."
     Carl turned away from the crowd and spoke into his radio. "What?! We just sent it in for repair..."
     "It's coming down, now."
     "Alright, bring her in safely."
     "Can't risk it. The crowd's too close to the runway. I'm bringing her down right here."
     Hal watched as the Javelin, with his father inside it, crashed nose-first into the nearby field and became a fireball.