PhantomCruiser
Wanderer
The Polygon Space Launch Facility was a hold-over from the cold war, Polygon administrators of the late 1980’s were forward thinking enough to peer into the future and see possibility, where the political masters in Moscow could only see a money pit. Rather than ride out the end of communism and find themselves on the same path the dinosaurs had taken, they chose to evolve. Risking the wrath of the policy makers several thousand kilometers away, they embarked on an ambitious modernization plan and opened up what became the Eastern hemispheres’ most advanced space launch facility. Ideally located along the equator, and capable of hitting a multitude of launch inclinations (including retrograde), the SRC Polygon soon became a premier launch facility. But what made it such a desirable location was also its biggest detractor. Located along the equator in the jungles of Sumatra, SRC was on the official list of places in “the middle of nowhere”. The oppressive heat, humidity, healthy sized mosquitoes and remote location made for a project that could only have been the brainchild of a government official somewhere far away (and in an air-conditioned office). To offset those detractors, special care was made to enhance to once Spartan facility. As commercial contracts brought money in, rather than line their own pockets in the name of new-found capitalism, administrators worked toward improving the “creature comforts” of the base. As a result, while the detractors remained, there existed multiple ways to fend them off and have some semblance of a normal life.
Maria Kolosov made her way over to the treadmill, not looking forward to the next 45 minutes of going nowhere fast. The fitness center (known to locals as the FAC) of Polygon space center wasn’t one of the cathedrals to fitness she’d seen when she’d visited relatives in the United States, but what the FAC lost is quantity was made up for in quality. A fighter pilot (even a civilian one) has to maintain a particular level of physical fitness, and Maria had to spend a regular amount of time keeping herself in shape, not only for her job, but for her own benefit. Picking an empty treadmill facing the western wall of windows, she proceeded to program the machine and started her “run”. The man running beside her was mumbling something nonsensical as he stared out the windows, connected to his I-pod.
Several minutes into her program, she’d already succumbed to boredom. She did note that she was going to be in for a spectacular sunset, the high altitude clouds formed some interesting striations that would give a visually stimulating ripple, and the big puffy cumulonimbus clouds already had some striking definition in their shadows. As she trudged through the routine, she found herself listening to the American next to her; if she concentrated she could almost make sense of his murmurings.
Finally reaching the end of her program, she dismounted the treadmill and proceeded to wipe it down. Determined to see that sunset, she stood near the floor to ceiling window to watch the show. She stood there for several minutes, observing as the blue sky surrendered to various shades of pinks and purple, she failed to notice the now quiet American standing next to her, also enjoying the sunset. It suddenly occurred to her what he’d been murmuring.
“Are you a pilot”? She asked, almost in an accusing tone, startling him.
“No, But I’m learning things”, he replied. “How’d you know?”
She smiled, “It took me a while, but I recognize bold-face procedures when I hear them. What platform are you working on?”
“The MAKS” he answered, almost sheepishly. “Well, not MAKS, it doesn’t really have a name yet. MAKS-2, return-of-MAKS, son-of-MAKS. We nicknamed the spacecraft Maxine though, after a comic strip.”
Maria’s eyes lit up “I flew a chase plane for that the other day!” she exclaimed, “You are one of the Americans working on that I take it?”
“Yes, I guess you could say that. Wait, that was you? In that old SU?” he asked, “I thought that was a man”.
“Yes, that was me” she replied in a very matter-of-fact voice. “In the future I’ll try to fly our rust buckets in a more manly fashion”.
The man, suddenly flustered, held up both hands as if to ward of an attacker. “No, no, no. That’s not how I meant that.”
She laughed and waved him down, “It’s those radios; they make everything sound very mechanical”. As the man relaxed she continued, “And, while all those SU-27’s might be old, they are lovingly maintained”.
After the small talk had continued for several more minutes, Maria found herself starting to warm up to the quirky American. He’d expressed great interest in their maintenance and tool control program and before she left the FAC, she’d invited him to tour the flight line and hangar.
As she made her way from the FAC to her own quarters, she was unaware that she’d subconsciously exaggerated her walk. Not much, just enough…
For his part, the American did his best to not watch Maria's hips sway side-to-side as she disappeared into the distance. Looking down at the scrap of paper she'd given him before she departed, he gave a mental shrug and headed off to his own temporary housing unit.
Maria Kolosov made her way over to the treadmill, not looking forward to the next 45 minutes of going nowhere fast. The fitness center (known to locals as the FAC) of Polygon space center wasn’t one of the cathedrals to fitness she’d seen when she’d visited relatives in the United States, but what the FAC lost is quantity was made up for in quality. A fighter pilot (even a civilian one) has to maintain a particular level of physical fitness, and Maria had to spend a regular amount of time keeping herself in shape, not only for her job, but for her own benefit. Picking an empty treadmill facing the western wall of windows, she proceeded to program the machine and started her “run”. The man running beside her was mumbling something nonsensical as he stared out the windows, connected to his I-pod.
Several minutes into her program, she’d already succumbed to boredom. She did note that she was going to be in for a spectacular sunset, the high altitude clouds formed some interesting striations that would give a visually stimulating ripple, and the big puffy cumulonimbus clouds already had some striking definition in their shadows. As she trudged through the routine, she found herself listening to the American next to her; if she concentrated she could almost make sense of his murmurings.
Finally reaching the end of her program, she dismounted the treadmill and proceeded to wipe it down. Determined to see that sunset, she stood near the floor to ceiling window to watch the show. She stood there for several minutes, observing as the blue sky surrendered to various shades of pinks and purple, she failed to notice the now quiet American standing next to her, also enjoying the sunset. It suddenly occurred to her what he’d been murmuring.
“Are you a pilot”? She asked, almost in an accusing tone, startling him.
“No, But I’m learning things”, he replied. “How’d you know?”
She smiled, “It took me a while, but I recognize bold-face procedures when I hear them. What platform are you working on?”
“The MAKS” he answered, almost sheepishly. “Well, not MAKS, it doesn’t really have a name yet. MAKS-2, return-of-MAKS, son-of-MAKS. We nicknamed the spacecraft Maxine though, after a comic strip.”
Maria’s eyes lit up “I flew a chase plane for that the other day!” she exclaimed, “You are one of the Americans working on that I take it?”
“Yes, I guess you could say that. Wait, that was you? In that old SU?” he asked, “I thought that was a man”.
“Yes, that was me” she replied in a very matter-of-fact voice. “In the future I’ll try to fly our rust buckets in a more manly fashion”.
The man, suddenly flustered, held up both hands as if to ward of an attacker. “No, no, no. That’s not how I meant that.”
She laughed and waved him down, “It’s those radios; they make everything sound very mechanical”. As the man relaxed she continued, “And, while all those SU-27’s might be old, they are lovingly maintained”.
After the small talk had continued for several more minutes, Maria found herself starting to warm up to the quirky American. He’d expressed great interest in their maintenance and tool control program and before she left the FAC, she’d invited him to tour the flight line and hangar.
As she made her way from the FAC to her own quarters, she was unaware that she’d subconsciously exaggerated her walk. Not much, just enough…
For his part, the American did his best to not watch Maria's hips sway side-to-side as she disappeared into the distance. Looking down at the scrap of paper she'd given him before she departed, he gave a mental shrug and headed off to his own temporary housing unit.
, great read :thumbup:
