The Last Pilot: A Novel

Uh, no problem, Deke, Harrison said, and sat down.

 

There was a knock at the door.

 

Yup, Deke said, and Marvin Hoffman, the flight surgeon, came in and sat down. As soon as Harrison saw him, he knew.

 

Jim, it’s come to my attention, Deke said, that you’re not doing too good.

 

I’m fine, Deke.

 

Come on, Jim, Hoffman said.

 

Does Marvin have to be here?

 

Yes, Deke said. Look, I know the last few years have been pretty tough on you— Deke—

 

And you’ve been through shit that—God forbid—none of us will ever have to experience— I don’t want to talk about that, Harrison said.

 

I know you don’t, Jim, but I do, Deke said. And if this goes on much longer the whole world will be talking about it, and I’m pretty sure neither you, or Grace, want that.

 

Harrison didn’t say anything. He began to feel not good. He’d stopped using stupid techniques a while ago. He’d realized that he was a test pilot and, if he treated every instance as a test pilot in a tight spot, he could easily maneuver out of trouble. He didn’t realize that this was simply another technique.

 

Harrison stood.

 

I got a flight to prepare for, he said.

 

Jim, you’re mentally unwell, Hoffman said, rising.

 

Marv, Deke said.

 

Are you grounding me? Harrison said to Deke.

 

Deke got to his feet.

 

Yeah, he said.

 

This is flight surgeon horseshit, Deke! Harrison said, pointing at Hoffman.

 

You need to look after yourself, Jim, Deke said. You need to get some help. Marvin can help you with that. We’ve got people you can talk to now. Hell, you’ve been doing a pretty damn good job of keepin on; you’ve done good work, you should be proud of that. But now’s the time to stop, before you do something stupid and auger in. We sure as hell don’t need another astronaut clobbered before he’s even been into space. Or, worse, what if we send you up, and something happens, and NASA’s got two dead men orbiting the Earth? There’d be no damn program left.

 

He’s right, Jim, Hoffman said.

 

A month before the flight, Harrison said. You’re taking me off a month before the flight.

 

That’s why we have backup crews, Deke said.

 

Look, Harrison said, Dave Scott’s a fine pilot but—

 

Dave will do just fine, Deke said. And no one came to me. It’s important you know that. It was just, a little thing here, a little thing there; Marv and I spoke.

 

Deke—

 

I’m sorry Jim, Deke said.

 

I’m sorry too, Harrison said.

 

Conrad’s downstairs, Deke said. He’ll fly you back to the Cape, if that’s where you want to go.

 

He stared at Deke, then nodded.

 

Marv will make you an appointment to see one of our people right away.

 

Where can I reach you? Hoffman said.

 

Holiday Inn, Harrison said.

 

I’ll need a permanent address.

 

That is my address.

 

Deke waved his hand at Hoffman.

 

Right, Hoffman said. Deke, I gotta run.

 

Sure. Thanks, Marv.

 

Jim, Hoffman said. I’ll be in touch.

 

Harrison nodded and Hoffman left, leaving the two men in the room together.

 

No reason why you can’t get back in the rotation for Apollo if things go well, Deke said.

 

Guess I’d better find Conrad, Harrison said.

 

 

 

The heat hit him hard outside. He felt sick. He was sick.

 

You’d better not do that in the cockpit, Conrad said, stepping out of his Corvette.

 

Pete, Harrison said.

 

Or my car. Tough break?

 

Something like that.

 

C’mon, Conrad said. Let’s get back, sit by the pool, have a beer.

 

Harrison said, a beer sounds good, and Conrad drove them to Ellington and they flew back to the Cape.

 

 

 

He didn’t go to the launch. The night before, he drove up to pad nineteen, parked the Corvette and looked across at the vast Titan II rocket. The small Gemini capsule sat on top of the fat booster, black and silver and white. He looked at it for a long time. Then he drove back to the motel. That old pilot’s saying: only two ways out of a doctor’s office. He went down to the bar and drank and smoked. He thought about all the work Neil and Dave were now having to do before the launch. He looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. They were probably still in the simulator. He felt bad. He was falling into a funk. It started as soon as he and Conrad landed at the Cape and had gotten progressively worse. He wasn’t going up. Something else was slipping away too, but he didn’t know what. He took a bottle back to his room.

 

The next morning, he got one of the engineers to install a squawk box by his bed. He might not be attending the launch, but he sure as hell wanted to listen in.

 

Sure appreciate this, Lou, he said to the engineer as he finished up.

 

No sweat, Jim, Lou said.

 

Harrison headed downtown and bought cigarettes, bags of potato chips, Budweiser.

 

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