Antoine Radson gave tossed a pair of khakis in the general direction of his closet, and resolved to deal with them later. They used to fit much easier. Probably shrunk in the wash, he concluded. It seemed to be happening far too often lately. He'd have to start washing everything in cold water. That would solve the issue, certainly.
He grabbed his bike helmet off the top of the his TV, pulled his bike out of the garage, slung his backpack on, and headed to work.
Some days he simply rode to the bus stop. He'd put his bike in the rack on the front of the bus, then finish the rest of the ride to work. Other days, he and his housemate carpooled. Today, beautiful weather, and barely five miles to work. An easy ride.
Easily he fell into a rhythm alternating between pedaling and coasting with the flow of the land. It wasn't a particularly challenging ride. There was that one hill between his house and the nuclear plant that always required low gear, but other than that, easy. The sun was already up, quickly burning away the night chill. It had been a hot spring, boding a dry summer. Already there were no-burn ordinances, no fires for those camping at Felskill park to the west. The pine barrens behind Antoine's house felt like a tinderbox.
He continued his pace of push-and-glide, ignoring the cars that passed him on the road. He crossed the avenue by the train station and bus stop, and coasted up to the guard house. He slid up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing his ID in a plastic armband. The guard gave him a nod, and waved him by.
Antoine parked his bike in the hanger, and threw on a work shirt. He eyed the helicopter next to him fondly as he fussed with his tie, admiring the sleek lines, the way she was made. An AW119 Koala, not the newest model, but she was every bit as beautiful to him as any chopper. He gave the craft an affectionate pat as he walked by. It had been too long since he'd had her out.
These days, she spent most of her time in the hanger.
Regardless, he still wheeled her onto the tarmac frequently enough for regular maintenance and checks. On his downtime he enjoyed tending to the craft, keeping her flight-ready at all times. Though he knew the odds of his boss requesting departure with barely an hour's notice were slim to none, it was a matter of pride to keep Lima Delta, his "Little Diva," in top shape. It gave a sense of purpose to his daily regime.
Preston Tucci stood in the board room at the head of the table, hands resting on the chair in front of him as he mulled over words in his head.
Preston rarely sat at meetings, preferring to stand. Most of his time was spent sitting behind his desk. It felt good to stand, it also made him the tallest person at the table. Perhaps it was merely an illusion, but he felt the Board listened to him more when they had to look up to him, literally.
Preston scanned the faces, once so intimidating, and now too familiar. Old white men, most of them. A few younger faces, a few women. The new Inside Director, Virginia Silbert, she was young enough, relatively speaking. Forties, Preston guessed. She'd come from the Admin side, Senior Management from Accounting or Human Resources. Preston couldn't remember which. He hadn't had much say when she'd been appointed to fill the spot left by Rhonda LeBlanc some time back.
All eyes were on Preston, awaiting his response.
Finally, he straightened up and folded his hands behind his back. Casually, he walked to the window and looked out over the reactor containment units. His eyes wandered to the hanger and tarmac by the parking lot.
"So," he began, turning back to the table, "let me see if I understand this correctly. This has been in the work for some time, of that I'm aware. So, please don't mince words with me. The Board has decided to sell off the company helicopter, and this leaves me with the unpleasant task of breaking this news to the company pilot."
"Exactly," replied a man across the table, his deepest eyes almost buried under think eyebrows and heavy brow ridge. Beetlebrowed.
"And what of his partial ownership? His share?"
Beetlebrow shrugged. "His contract states he owns a share, but it gives him no power to retain it upon release of employment, or sale of the vehicle. When we sell, his share is bought out, paid in full. If he doesn't like it, he can leave."
A woman at the other end, brown-dyed hair pulled in a bun tapped a gold fountain pen against her lips. "Is it even beneficial to keep him on staff? Why does the plant even need a pilot when there's nothing for him to fly? His pay, and the fact that he's salary make him a rather expensive employee to keep without reason."
Preston opened a Manila envelope from his briefcase.
"Antoine Radson is arguably an expensive asset outside of his role pilot, that I can agree to. And it doesn't make sense to keep a pilot when there's no chopper..." He pulled out letter, skimmed it, then handed it to the man on his right.
"That's Antoine's latest performance evaluation from Infrastructure. As you can see, he's taken on - by choice, not assignment I might add - the role of shift lead. He supervises working parties, coordinates repair schedules, has taken on a leadership role. Well, you can read Sharon's own words as well as I can, but clearly she speaks highly of him. His skill set and willingness to work has made him, unofficially at least, her go-to for handling labor and specialized tasks. You can see in this letter she recommends him for an official senior position in her department, which would justify both having him as a salaried employee and his current compensation."
Preston watched as the letter circled the table, keeping close eye for any glimmer of emotion from the board members. Occasionally eyebrows would raise, or a tongue would click. Preston held the back of the chair tightly, and hoped his nerves didn't show. He realized his knuckles had gone white, and willed himself to relax.
The letter was slid back in front of him. He didn't reach down, lest his hand tremble.
An uncomfortable silence reigned.
Preston drew himself up to his full height, and released the chair. Tiny indentations from his fingers remained in the black leather.
"For those of you who've been here awhile, and I believe that's most of you, we'll all be well aware of just how particular Sharon is about her employees. She's not the sort to write flowery praise for everyone. Nor would her integrity let her write about Antoine in glowing terms just because I told her to." Preston afforded himself a chuckle, a break in his expressionless facade. "I'd be willing to bet Sharon would tell me off before she'd compromise her values just because I asked."
Voiced murmured in reluctant agreement.
Sharon, the Lead of Infrastructure, maintenance, regarded her job with the passion and intensity of a practiced surgeon. Her impossibly high standards, and willingness to fire substandard performers was well known. She hadn't gone easy on Antoine when he transferred into her department. In her own words, she openly admitted she pushed him hard when he came onboard, testing him with the same critical eye as she would a new piece of equipment.
Antoine had won her respect, despite his relaxed attitude. For all his casual disposition, work was one thing he always took seriously. I'm a pilot, if I don't do it right, people could die. Well, same down here, right? Infrastructure's not so different in that regard.
His performance review highlighted her approval of his mindset.
Beetlebrow looked around the table. "So what, ultimately is being implied here?'
Virginia Silbert, sitting at Preston's left spoke up.
"I should think it's quite apparent. Sell the chopper, keep the employee. If he was only a pilot, the plant would have no hesitation in parting ways. But I think it's apparent he's an asset, and worth the expense."
"Is that the opinion of the entire plant?" Beetlebrow asked, eyeing Preston from beneath heavy lids.
"Director Silbert is completely correct. I second, without hesitation, the retention of Antoine Radson as company staff."
Beetlebrow glanced around the table. A motion was made, and passed. In a majority vote, the decision was made to sell the company helicopter, but keep the attached pilot.
Antoine Radson drummed his feet on the floor and watched Preston apprehensively. He'd been summoned to the executive office, not a frequent occurrence. Once he'd seen Preston's solemn expression, he started to get worried.
"Antoine, please have a seat. I have something to tell you, and you're not going to like it."
"This isn't going to be good, is it," he muttered as he sat down. "Are you breaking up with me?" he asked, an attempt at humour. He glanced at Preston's personal assistant who stood nearby, hoping for a flicker of approval.
Preston's expression remained unchanged. His assistant, Rigel, blinked slowly and looked away.
Antoine felt himself wincing internally.
"Okay, cut to the chase, Prep." He threw his arms over the rests of the chair. "How bad are we talking about?"
Preston ran a hand over his face. He looked down for a moment before meeting Antoine's eyes. "We're selling the chopper."
Antoine stared at Preston, not fully comprehending. He couldn't have just heard what he thought. No, that wasn't right. He rolled Preston's words over in his mind. Preston hadn't stuttered. "Wait, say that again. You're selling my Little Diva."
Preston gave a single nod. "Yes. Lima Delta's slated for transfer later this month."
Antoine's body tensed, jaw muscles working. "You can't do that. I own a share."
"You'll be getting full reimbursement, what you initially paid in."
Antoine shook his head vigorously. "No! Not okay with this. That bird's my life, Preppy, and you know it!"
Preston held up his hands. "I know Antoine, I tried to argue on your behalf, the board wouldn't hear of it. I tried."
Antoine shoved himself to his feet, tugging the front of his polo shirt angrily down. "You didn't try hard enough," he snarled.
"Antoine, please, don't take that tone with me."
Antoine folded his arms across his chest. "I'll take whatever tone I like, and don't you tell me otherwise." He glanced at Rigel standing nearby. "God, Riley, why are you still here? I'm having a discussion with my boss."
Preston was on his feet, coming around the desk, mouth drawn in a thin line. "Miss Vought is my personal assistant, and she has every right to be where I need her. You will not take that tone of voice with me, nor will you take it with any other employee here."
Antoine rolled his shoulders forward. "Yeah? Or what?" Antoine felt his voice rising. "You think you can just tell me what to do? Bark orders at me like that? Just who do you think you are anyhow?"
"Right now, Antoine, I am your boss, and you are getting out of line. I'm sorry, I truly am, but my hands are tied."
Antoine clenched his teeth, shifted his weight from foot to foot like a prize-fighter readying for a match. He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.
"Go home, Antoine," Preston said, not unkindly. "Take the rest of the day for yourself. I'll take care of things here."
"How long have you known?" Antoine whispered, face a mask of disappointment.
Preston sighed. "Long enough to have had time to build a full dossier on why you're an asset through Sharon and Human Resources. The Board initially wanted to separate you and the chopper both. I stopped them on that at least. I'm sorry Antoine. I couldn't do more."
Antoine dragged his wrist across his eyes. For several minutes he said nothing. Merely looked at the floor, ceiling, walls... anywhere except Preston of Rigel. " 'Kay," he muttered at long last, unable to meet Preston's eyes. Without a further word, he turned and left, shutting the door very softly behind him.