Once the longer of the two hoses was looped under the belly of the 767 and attached to its fuel port, Brian returned to the cockpit, cycled up the APUs and went to work sucking the 727-400's fuel tanks dry. As he watched the LED readout on his right tank slowly climb toward 24,000 pounds, he waited tensely for the APUs to start chugging and lugging, trying to eat fuel which would not burn.
The right tank had reached the 8,000-pound mark when he heard the note of the small jet engines at the rear of the plane change - they grew rough and labored.
"What's happening, mate?" Nick asked. He was sitting in the co-pilot's chair again. His hair was disarrayed, and there were wide streaks of grease and blood across his formerly natty button-down shirt.
"The APU engines are getting a taste of the 727's fuel and they don't like it," Brian said. "I hope Albert's magic works, Nick, but I don't know."
Just before the LED reached 9,000 pounds in the right tank, the first APU cut out. A red ENGINE SHUTDOWN light appeared on Brian's board. He flicked the APU off.
"What can you do about it?" Nick asked, getting up and coming to look over Brian's shoulder.
"Use the other three APUs to keep the pumps running and hope," Brian said.
The second APU cut out thirty seconds later, and while Brian was moving his hand to shut it down, the third went. The cockpit lights went with it; now there was only the irregular chug of the hydraulic pumps and the lights on Brian's board, which were flickering. The last APU was roaring choppily, cycling up and down, shaking the plane.
"I'm shutting down completely," Brian said. He sounded harsh and strained to himself, a man who was way out of his depth and tiring fast in the undertow. "We'll have to wait for the Delta's fuel to join our plane's time-stream, or time-frame, or whatever the fuck it is. We can't go on like this. A strong power-surge before the last APU cuts out could wipe the INS clean. Maybe even fry it."
But as Brian reached for the switch, the engine's choppy note suddenly began to smooth out. He turned and stared at Nick unbelievingly. Nick looked back, and a big, slow grin lit his face.
"We might have lucked out, mate."
Brian raised his hands, crossed both sets of fingers, and shook them in the air. "I hope so," he said, and swung back to the boards. He flicked the switches marked APU 1, 3, and 4. They kicked in smoothly. The cockpit lights flashed back on. The cabin bells binged. Nick whooped and clapped Brian on the back.
Bethany appeared in the doorway behind them. "What's happening? Is everything all right?"
"I think," Brian said without turning, "that we might just have a shot at this thing."
9
Craig finally managed to stand upright. The glowing girl now stood with her feet just above the luggage conveyor belt. She looked at him with a supernatural sweetness and something else... something he had longed for his whole life. What was it?
He groped for it, and at last it came to him.
It was compassion.
Compassion and understanding.
He looked around and saw that the darkness was draining away. That meant he had been out all night, didn't it? He didn't know. And it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the glowing girl had brought them to him - the investment bankers, the bond specialists, the commission-brokers, and the stock-rollers. They were here, they would want an explanation of just what young Mr Craiggy-Weggy Toomy-Woomy had been up to, and here was the ecstatic truth: monkey-business! That was what he had been up to - yards and yards of monkey-business - miles of monkey-business. And when he told them that...
"They'll have to let me go... won't they?"
Yes, she said. But you have to hurry, Craig. You have to hurry before they decide you're not coming and leave.
Craig began to make his slow way forward. The girl's feet did not move, but as he approached her she floated backward like a mirage, toward the rubber strips which hung between the luggage-retrieval area and the loading dock outside.
And... oh, glorious: she was smiling.
10
They were all back on the plane now, all except Bob and Albert, who were sitting on the stairs and listening to the sound roll toward them in a slow, broken wave.
Laurel Stevenson was standing at the open forward door