The Man from Yesterday
A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Twenty-Three : Observation from Flight 285
Rated: PG
*******
I read over the description card in the chair pocket. This is amazing. A supersonic aircraft for passenger service. The last time I flew this fast, I wore a helmet. Also a uniform.
Napoleon is asleep in the inside chair. I have the watch. Not that there seems much to be cautious about. The service has been excellent, but at this time of night even the numerous flight attendants have settled in to a sort of watchful waiting.
Not that they were not attentive earlier. Astoundingly attentive for the French.
Our late night meal was almost as elaborate as the previous restaurant, and Napoleon once again had the chance to amuse himself with a show of labels and corks. Not that he passed up the chance to grumble a bit, but to my taste this bottle was equally as good as the last.
The food was hot, the flat wear heavy, the china light. I can not understand what the passenger in front of us was complaining about. So the plane is a bit narrow? The seats are wide enough.
The stewardess had again wanted the third seat, but this time Napoleon insisted we required it 'For the package'. Not that there is anything in that package. It is merely a box he purchased and had wrapped in brown paper at a stand, then decorated with various stamps and seals. No matter. Between his serious look and my bureaucratic ID, they were convinced of its irreplaceable fragility. Thus, we and our empty seat were left in peace. That is the only virtue to a capitalist culture. If you pay enough, people will let you get away with nonsense.
After dinner the attendants brought by hot towels. Very nice. Also headphones. There are several good channels of jazz, as well as classical music. Very relaxing. Also more drinks. No charge, but Napoleon insisted on tipping the girl. Apparently against policy. So? She smiled and stammered, but I recall she did not refuse. And afterwards, the service was even better.
By the time the lights dimmed and they came by with pillows and blankets, most of the plane was ready to sleep.
I told Napoleon I would take first watch. He told me to wake him at midpoint. I will, but not just yet. Not now, in this fragile moment of peace.
Tomorrow we reach New York. What else, I do not know. Perhaps U.N.C.L.E., perhaps...? I do not even know what to dread. Change? My world has changed before, and I have dealt with it. Loss? I can accept that and go on. I have before. I always have before. But now? I look down at my sleeping partner, then away.
I should prepare. Do something useful. But what? I have checked and rechecked our fellow passengers. After our last encounter, even paranoia is not caution enough. But? From every indication they are an unthreatening bunch. One man seated up front sent up a few flares as he came on. A middle-aged British gentleman in a bowler, whose cane rang a bit too metallic on the entrance way. He has the bland face and unexplained edge that might mark a professional. But the woman with him? Physically good enough, perhaps, but a twenty-something flash willing to wear her lethality as a fashion statement along with her black leather suit. I flatter myself that our foes would hire better.
I have finished my book, and Napoleon's, and every tolerable magazine in the airplane selection. I now know more then I would ever wish to about the follies of this world, an less then I ever imagined about myself. Now I have only to watch. To watch the plane, the crew, and Napoleon.
He lies there. The unasked center of my world. Trusting me. Left to myself, I would let him sleep. Tomorrow will be ...difficult. But I dare not. Napoleon values my care, but he requires my obedience.
END CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE