He named a vendor.
Different name.
I asked:
“Parent company?”
He did not know.
The captain requested corporate ownership data through ground operations.
No response.
So the maintenance supervisor searched the files on his private drive.
Old purchase records.
Invoices.
Vendor codes.
There.
The vendor had been acquired three years earlier by an aerospace holding company.
That company had once supplied military electronics.
Including the control module from my accident.
I sat completely still.
The captain said:
“Claire?”
I could barely hear him.
“That executive.”
“What about him?”
“Ask whether he worked for the holding company before Aerwyn.”
The captain did.
No one answered.
We did not need one yet.
A ground investigator later would.
For now, there was an airplane to land.
The approach was rough.
Rain streaked across the windows.
Wind pushed from the left.
The aircraft’s faulty indication returned twice.
Each time the captain remained calm.
I backed him up.
Called out what I saw.
Cross-checked the stable systems against the unreliable one.
No magic maneuver.
No impossible fighter-pilot trick.
Just discipline.
The thing I had convinced myself I no longer possessed.
Several hundred feet above the runway, I felt the old memory trying to enter.
A voice over military radio.
My trainee:
It’s not responding.
My own:
Try again.
Then:
Eject. Eject now.
I pushed it away.
Not now.
The captain said:
“Runway.”
I answered:
“In sight.”
He landed.
Firm.
Centered.
Safe.
The engines reversed.
The aircraft slowed.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then cheers erupted behind the cockpit door.
The captain exhaled.
I realized my hands were shaking.
He looked at me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I laughed.
A strange laugh.
Relief more than humor.
Emergency crews surrounded us.
Passengers remained seated while authorities boarded.
The Aerwyn executive was escorted off separately.
