Abe Peters      I imagine most people have a fantasy character, maybe they're Errol Flynn if they're older or Spiderman if they're younger. I have no idea who most people my age imagine they are in their going-to-sleep or driving-to-work fantasies (for those who still drive to work). For the past fifty years mine has been Dr. Abraham Peters (Abe) born in 1999 December, a naturally-gifted airplane engineer and pilot whose life is all about airplanes every which way. There are already two other stories from Abe's older years, Olympus and Test Pilot, and I'm writing a sequence of stories from his cradle to his grave.      As I have been lucky in my own teachers in my own interests, Abe was incredibly lucky to have an amazing flight instructor, Cicero, going back to the historical Tuskegee Airmen. Unlike this story, I know nothing of their flying oddities and Natural Flight is something I made up as part of the fantasy that is Abe Peters.      There is something of my own primary flight instructor Frank Fine in Cicero, deep roots in history and a fanatical love of flying and airplanes. Unlike Cicero, Frank actually built his airplanes. My favorite memory of Frank is the grin on his face (that I could see in the silly rearview mirror in the C150 two-seat trainer we flew) as we departed the grass strip in Colts Neck, New Jersey, on my first flight in a small airplane. As Abe kept Cicero's joy for the rest of his long life, I keep Frank's joy with me anytime I'm in or near an airplane.      In contrast to my own usual failure in big companies and their hierarchical organizations, Abe is successful from teenage years through retirement in a single organization of a single company, the kind of big company with deep pockets and excellent people that it takes to make engines, cars, and airplanes. His relationship with his lifelong-career company is good enough that he comes back twenty-four years later for his final test flight in 2094.

     Megan Sinclair was a good pilot in the United-States Navy, a damned-good pilot actually. In 2044 she claimed the most night carrier landings, quite a credential on record. She also had the record for the night carrier landing with the highest blood alcohol level (BAL), a record less-scrupulously kept by the Navy, one with a story behind it, and one she had no desire to challenge.

     In the U.S. Navy at age thirty five, based in San Diego, California, stationed aboard the USS Carl Vinson aircraft carrier, Megan considered herself a great aviator at the top of a heap of great aviators. She had a son, Paul, sixteen, who was learning to fly out of Montgomery Airport (MYF) with plenty of encouragement from his mother. She shared his joy and frustrations as he learned basic flight maneuvers and, of course, learned how to land an airplane. It was all airplane single-engine land (ASEL), basic two-seat and four-seat propeller airplanes, standard student-pilot stuff. Knowing how good a pilot she was, Megan worked hard not to impose ridiculously-high standards on her son in his flight training.

     Megan told herself flight is simple enough, engines make an airplane go and controls make it go where you want it to go and she had the most talent with the best training using the best equipment under the most challenging conditions. When her Navy mentor Mitch said maybe there was somebody better as a pilot than she was, she was initially dismissive. "Who in the Navy is better than I am?" seemed a bit egotistical, but she figured she had earned her right to a big ego.

     Mitch answered, "He's not in the Navy, not even military." Returning Megan's stare he said, "His name is Abe Peters and he's a civilian test pilot at Arbor in England."

     Megan wondered twice, first, because one thing almost all Navy pilots agree that the best pilots are Navy pilots, no question, and, second, how is it some guy she never heard of was so high on Mitch's ranking list of pilots, Navy or not?

     "Just fly with him and you can decide for yourself," said Mitch.

     "Am I supposed to go to England and just ask around for this Abe-Peters guy?" asked Megan.

     "Not to worry about that," said Mitch. "I've met Abe, flown with him even, he flies all over the world, and I'm pretty sure I can arrange a meeting where you can fly together."

     "Okay, okay," and a meeting was arranged on a weekend when Megan would be in San Diego with her son and they would fly together 2045 June 3, a Saturday afternoon. Abe agreed to come to Mongomery (MYF) to make it easier for them and, so he said, because he had a Wolfpack pickup the next morning.

     In his younger days, Abe started a business of flying people places where they didn't necessarily want other people to know they were going. His friend Peter Weingard, known as Pencil, joined the group they called the Wolfpack and by now, two decades later in 2045, there were about eighty pilots in the club flying people privately and discreetly. Abe flew a lot of those missions, often to hostile places, and, so he said, he had a pickup in San Diego going somewhere secret.

     Or maybe he just wanted to share the skies with a highly-decorated U.S.-Navy pilot.

     So 2045 June 3, Saturday morning came, Megan and Paul showed up at the Mongtomery-Airport terminal, and Abe was waiting. Thirteen years earlier he was working at Arbor in Brighton, England, he worked there from teenage years to the end of his career, and there was a prototype of Abe's first airplane design from 2019 that he, himself, test-flew in 2032. Arbor had already named several protypes by color, the Red Car, the Blue Car, the Yellow Car, this silver-matte car was dubbed the Grey Car. It was a five-seat car called Aero that could sprout wings and fly across oceans at airline speeds and airline altitudes or higher. At £2 million, it wasn't cheap, but it was cool to have a machine that could drive to the grocery store for food shopping and also fly from the United States to Europe. The duality of purpose was compelling and sharing Abe's world and reputation by owning this Aero car was also compelling and there were enough people with £2 million who thought enough of it to buy one to make Aero a profitable venture for Arbor. So Abe was sitting in the terminal with the Grey Car waiting outside on the ramp.

     The Grey Car was clearly the better choice because Megan couldn't exactly take a civilian guest up in a Navy fighter jet, at least not without a shitload of paperwork and permission signatures she wasn't likely to get easily. So Megan got in the left-front seat with Abe holding the door, Abe walked around and put Paul in the back left seat, and he took his customary position in the right-front seat.

     It didn't take long after takeoff before they were over the Pacific Ocean. In his usual petagogical style, Abe started his watch-then-do rhythm with bank-right and then straighten-up which Megan obediantly followed. The sequence gradually got less boring, bank-left-and-straight, climbing right turn, climbing left turn, roll right, roll left, spin right, spin left, snap-roll right, snap-roll left, and then some of Abe's own maneuvers. There were kick turns, ladders, shoulder rolls, and some dizzying exercises in rapid recovery. Megan followed along with increasing effort without failing.

     Others practice so-called "unusual attitudes" where an airplane is put into some odd trajectory by an instructor or friend while the pilots has his eyes closed and then the pilot being trained or tested has to recover. Abe's were decidely different with the airplane going one way, pointing another way, and spinning around an axis a third way. Abe believed in differential engine thrust to control an airplane more than other pilots who used control surfaces for positioning and engines for thrust and acceleration.

     Megan was able to keep up with the most-difficult examples of Abe's flight attitudes, but, yes, she had to work at it, and she wasn't used to having to work at keeping up with another pilot. When they landed an hour and a half later, she was fatigued but satisfied with being able to rise to a challenge and being able to keep up with Abe Peters after what Mitch said about him.

     Abe turned around as they were taxiing back and asked Paul, "Would thou like to go up for a bit?" (Abe used the more-formal, more-traditional thou-thee-thy instead of the more-casual, more-recent you.)

     Appropriately confused and bewildered, Paul nodded eagerly. Stopped on the ramp, seats were appropriately exchanged so Abe will still front-right, sixteen-year-old student-pilot Paul was left-front, and mother Megan was sitting in the back seat wondering what this Abe-Peters fellow was going to do to her aspiring-aviator son.

     Abe was perfect with Paul, having him taxi the airplane and do the takeoff with explicit instructions and maybe a little help on the left-and-right dual controls. He took Paul through the first few maneuvers, right turn, left turn, and climbing turns.

     Then he turned to Paul as he flew the Grey Car himself and asked, "Have thou practiced stalls yet in your training?" A "stall" is when the wings stop flying and the airplane temporarily falls down and pilots practice doing them so they don't happen at the wrong time by accident. When Paul nodded yes he went on. "Thou are probably used to stalls in a propeller 'plane, not a jet." Sixteen-year-old Paul nodded again. "Okay, before thou do stalls in this machine, I'll point out two major differences. First, a jet has spool-up time, so, even with spry, quick, sweet engines like the D-2s here, thou won't get the instant recovery thou are used to. Don't keep pushing the throttle and don't keep pushing the nose down. Thrust and recovery will come in a second or two, just wait for it." He demonstrated the stall for Paul with the longer-time recovery. "Second, Aero is a `canard' airplane with the big wings in the back and the little wings that would normally be the tail in the front. That means it's less stable than thou are used to, so don't overcorrect. Wait for it, it will come, and Aero is astonishingly stable if thou are able to wait for it." He demonstrated another stall for Paul before having Paul do one, then another, and then another.

     Over the next half hour, Abe gently coaxed more and more out of Paul. The kid did stalls, spins, rolls, and snap rolls. He even did wobbly imitations of Abe's kick turns and shoulder rolls. Paul was drenched in sweat and totally happy with his achievements. He had an ear-to-ear grin on his face when they landed. Actually, with help from Abe acting as instructor, Paul was able to land this four-engine, transoceanic airplane with his proud-parent mother in the back seat.

     When they got out of the Grey Car and were walking to the terminal building, Megan said, "Thank you so much." Then she added, "Thank you for making your flying skill accessible to a pilot of lesser skill and experience."

     Abe quickly answered, "Twice."

     Megan continued walking for two or three steps and then it hit her what Abe was saying. Abe was a totally kind and forgiving person for just about anything, but the one thing that touched his nerve was somebody less capable, less smart, of less ability pretending to be his equal. Abe was acutely aware of his skill in the sky. He wasn't angry or frustrated or condesencing, only affirming what he knew well and felt others ought to know enough to know.

     What hit Megan wasn't that Abe was being arrogant or egotistical, but that he was being totally honest. What challenged her in the sky with Abe apparently weren't challenging to Abe, just routine yanking-and-banking flying. She had only one escape, one place she would not be followed by her two companions, one place she would not be seen in emotional distress, so she dashed into the LADIES room.

     There were hyperventilation and a few tears before she walked out trying to keep composure on her face. This was not an easy moment for a big-ego military-hero aviator to face.

     She walked up to Abe up-close face-to-face. "Okay, Abe, can you do something for me? Can you show me what you consider difficult flying?"

     Abe replied, "To show off."

     With her head bowed Megan said, "Yes, please."

     Back in the Grey Car it was all business for Abe. The takeoff had a kick-turn and shoulder roll right off the runway. Even for a night-carrier-landings, big-ego, scary-good pilot like Megan, it looked closer than comfortable, but was well within Abe's comfort zone. Then Abe hurdled skyward with a dizzying array of kick turns, ladders, shoulder rolls, and other maneuvers. The 'plane turned and twisted as Abe entered three-different-directions attitudes and recovered from them. He offered Megan a chance to put the Grey Car into those difficult situations, she tried a couple, and then just gave the controls back to Abe for more showing off. He was very good at it.

     As Abe continued to spin and to twist the airplane, Megan glanced at the display area. The instruments were all turned off, no display at all. It was also clear Abe wasn't looking at specific things outside the airplane either. When Megan asked what he was using for reference, Abe said he had learned Natural Flight from his flight instructor Cicero when he was a boy, the biological sense of where he was in the sky.

     "It's cool," Abe said, "first, being able to tell which way is up without looking and, second, knowing where I am. How do thou think I do all those lights-out landings in Africa without instruments?"

     Megan asked, "Why don't you turn on the instruments? Wouldn't it be safer?"

     Abe smiled and said, "There are detection system that can find the micro oscillators in our light airplanes. The Wolfpack is about getting people to places they want to be and not having anybody else know they're there. Moonless-night, lights-out landings become second nature." Abe continued his flying antics while he was explaining. "Megan, it's funny, one place Natural Flight doesn't get me where I'm going is landing on a carrier. After all, I know where an airport is because I've been there before, but I don't know where a moving ship is going to be. I have actually to see the boat to land on it."

     Megan struggled to understand the aerodynamics of Abe's flying antics, up and down, left and right, around and around. He was just so comfortable doing things with an airplane that would scare the willies out of just about anybody else.

     Afterward, back on the ground, Megan swallowed hard and looked eye-to-eye at Abe. She said, "I like to think one of the signs of excellence is realizing when somebody is more excellent and to learn from that person. I would like to do that. Can you take me up sometime, I'll cheerfully come to England, and show me some of this shit?"

     Abe answered, "I'm sorry if I was condescending back there. It's not one of my more-endearing characteristics. I would enjoy flying together, sharing the sky with a skilled pilot, and, perhaps, having another `one of mine' flying."

     Megan asked, "`One of yours'?"

     Abe continued, "I'm good at flying, I know it, and I think I know some of the things I know that make me good at it. I also believe I can share some of those things to have my student-protégés up there."

     Abe turned around 360° to indicate a change of subject and added, "Are you still aboard the Vinson?" When Megan nodded Abe asked, "Is Admiral May still in charge?"

     Megan answered, "Yes, and I've never had the privilege of meeting the admiral."

     Abe countered, "I actually did meet her, poor soul that she is, her parents had the sense of humor to name her April, really. We had breakfast together about six months ago on board the Vinson."

     Megan answered, "So her name is April May. We regular Navy grunts don't usually meet admirals, not even high-falutin' test pilots, not even enough that I knew the admiral was a woman. At least I didn't say "he" or "him" by mistake. I know our ship is well run and I assume she has something to do with that. So tell me how you know my admiral better than I do, or at all actually."

     Abe continued, "Being Abe Peters I have a lot of responsibility, a reputation to uphoad, all that. I don't even know anymore if the Abe Peters everybody knows is a façade or it's really who I am and I'm not sure I care anymore. I believe I've made a difference, my Aero airplane design has made a difference, my Wolfpack organization has made a difference, there are people making things happen that wouldn't have happened. I believe in what I am and I work very hard to be what I am."

     Abe paused and went on, "But there's a flip side. Being Abe Peters has its share of perks, too. I get away with a lot of shit. Doing night carrier landings may not get breakfast with Admiral May while being who I am does. Once of my Wolfpack pilots knew her and she said she would like to meet me. When the Vinson was near Singapore and I had a Wolfpack dropoff there she sent a note. `Dr. Peters, I would enjoy breakfast' whenever the date was. `Without a blizzard of paperwork I cannot authorize a civilian landing on a military aircraft carrier, but, if you happen to find yourself on deck at oh one thirty, there's parking on the right past a row of fighter jets and we could dine at oh two hundred.' Landing the Grey Car on a ship is a lot easier than landing a high-performance fighter jet, I parked where she directed, and we had a delightful meal together. We flew together one time after that and, not to worry, she's no Megan Sinclair in the sky."

     Megan shook her head. It was enough of a surprise to meet a superior pilot, not just a little better but a whole lot better. To find out that that same pilot knew and flew with her admiral whom she had never met was even more surprising. By now she realized that Abe wasn't just some other guy, that there was something special and wonderful about him and she looked forward to their future flights together.