thefirststark | (no subject)

(no subject)

Factory Building #3 doesn't stand out much from the dozens of manufacturing sites in southern California. The two things that distinguish it most? That it was build after the war ended, when so many other factories were being shut down. And that it's in Whittier, more than a little off the beaten path. It had been a bit of pork brought home by Congressman Voorhis, something that Howard was glad to take advantage of. And the fact that Voorhis was gone and replaced by a newcomer named Richard Nixon wasn't important. Everyone in the district wanted the jobs, after all.

The location wasn't perfect. The nearest full scale airfield was a good drive, meaning that planes would have to be towed on substandard roads for testing. And those same roads didn't make the drive there an easy one. But Howard was still pleased with the factory, with the labor pool, with the cost of the construction, and the government contracts that went with it. Specifically, the B-35. The next generation in long range bomber.

The staff was all abuzz today. Howard's visits to the factory were rare. He generally trusted his managers, and usually had somewhere else to be. That he was making an inspection left everyone eager. Or nervous. Was there something wrong? Was there someone even more important coming? Or was he just being a boss and pulling the sort of surprise inspection that other bosses love? All anyone knew was that he arrived through the private garage and went to his office unseen.

They didn't know that he had left the office and gone into another dimension for a while. Or that he was bringing back a guest.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's not something I do really often," she says. "Made it from New York to just outside Denver in a little bit less than three hours, and then I passed out for ten."

"You convert electric energy into muscle power, and then need to recharge?" Makes as much sense as anything else.

"Something like that, yeah. It's like a sugar high; you get extra power, but the crash is a bitch," she chuckles. "I'll show you sometime when I'm not in six-inch heels, unless you don't mind me showing off now."

"Inside a factory isn't the best idea. We could drive out to the desert later if you like.

"With a stop at an army surplus store for better shoes." There must be one nearby.

"I can stop," Noriko laughs. "We'll see how things go, and play it by ear, huh?"

She just isn't going to bring up that she's perfectly capable of running while barefoot.

"That suits me. Now, shall I continue the tour?" Always seems like the two of them get lost in conversation.

"By all means, lead on," she says with a smile.

They never get too close to a fuselage. Too many people working on too many things. But he manages to swing away the way around, showing where the engines will be, explaining the size of the fuel tanks, even noting that there are plans to include cots for longer flights so that some of the crews can sleep.

"You best have a great autopilot function for that," she murmurs, paying attention to the details as she follows Howard around the work area.

"I've slept on a military plane all of once. I hope yours are more comfortable."

"The plan is for two crews, essentially. I'm working on autopilot capacity, but it won't be that reliable.

"And I hope we can get at least minimal comfort. If nothing else, no one should have to sleep in the cockpit." On the rare occasions he had a copilot, he resorted to that. Ow.

She looks over at Howard and chuckles at that. "I'm thinking there's a story behind that desire."

"Nothing all that surprising. After the war, when we folded up SSR ops in London, I was asked to bring home some brass. No big deal, but Phillips insisted that if I had passengers, I needed a copilot.

"So we took turns flying. And I dozed off for the first time at the stick. When I woke up, I was completely out of sorts. Would have been better off just having coffee."

"So you were European theatre only, huh?" she asks, pivoting on one heel as she looks up at the unfinished fuselage above them.

It's an amusing thought, that he'd fall asleep doing something or--wonder of wonders--need assistance. It makes the man seem shockingly human, and for her that's quite a feat given what she's researched of him or managed to glean from sources in her own world. "So out of curiosity, if you flew why weren't you a pilot in the war?"

"On December 8, 1941, I picked up a phone and offered my services and those of my company to the War Department. Within six weeks, I was sent to work for the SSR. I wasn't looking to avoid the battlefield - and I did fly into some dangerous situations more than once - but my knowledge as a scientist was needed more than one more pilot." Which isn't to say that he doesn't feel just a little guilty about not being on the frontlines.

"Oddly specific date, there," Noriko says, unashamed of her birth country and fully aware of the actions taken. In her opinion, they lost that war fairly and fully, and it's decades gone by now for her.

"It wasn't meant as an accusation--I just honestly don't get to hear you talk about your flying skills much."

"I think I am not the only American to know what we did right after Pearl Harbor. I can't tell you the date of my first flight, or even the Super Soldier test, though.

"And I find that talking about flying isn't entirely the same as doing it." Even though he is a big talker otherwise.

"I wasn't asking about those things, either," she says.

"I've never actually been the one to fly a plane? I've been in them, but never really recreationally. I mean, I know vaguely how, but that's in the jet at the school. Not one of these."

"I suspect this would be very different than your jet, though. I can't imagine my successors haven't made flying a lot easier. A crate like this requires a lot of skill." Even he'd be tested by it.

"There's a whole lot more buttons, I'll give you that."

And displays in the way.

"Buttons are how we do things. And I have no idea how else it can work." Actually, he has ideas, but they all seem so outlandish that they might as well be fantasy.

"Click-switches are a good idea," she chuckles. "Really, though, you have no ideas?"

"Well, a few. But I tend to give that a lower priority. We live a while longer with what we have. While I address everything else." He seems to be just a little hesitant to talk in front of the workers.

"Is this one of those things you don't talk about with girls?" she asks with a tiny, wry smile.

"Hardly. Miss Welles in particular has a keen understanding of such things. Never mind the great aviatrixes of the last twenty years." He may have used the wrong plural, and definitely used a word that is far out of date for Nori.

"Aviatrices," she says, laughing before she can stop it. "Speaking of--really? Pilot didn't work?"