Scott and Phillip in Alaska

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In a quiet moment, over some eggnog, Phillip decides that his grandson has moped quite sufficiently on a certain subject, and tells Scott the story of Wiley Post, aviation pioneer. It's a very pointed story with a great deal of relevance to Scott's situation.


"There is," Scott pronounced, peering down into the glass, "a little too much rum in this eggnog."

His grandfather laughed warmly, sipping at his own glass. "Deb would have you believe that there's no such thing. And her eggnog is a careful and scientific mixture of different elements, Scott, so I wouldn't say that too loudly."

"And jeopardize my future cookie supply? Not a chance in the world," Scott said, well aware that there was indeed quite a bit of rum, which was something he wasn't at all used to drinking. He was feeling perhaps a little bit too relaxed. He wouldn't have put it past Deborah to detect that he was cherishing some nerves over... well, over tomorrow, and doubled up on the alcohol content in the eggnog or some such thing.

"Drink your eggnog, son. Prevents you from wondering just what Jean and Deb are giggling about in the kitchen," Phillip said very wisely. Scott blinked at him - then laughed, and succumbed to the inevitable. "That's better," Phillip said approvingly. "We'll get you to unwind yet."

"Have I been that bad?" Scott asked a bit meekly. There had been residual tension from the events of the last week, plus the sudden development of Significant Plans, after all. He was more than willing to admit that he was a little twitchy.

Phillip's expression was entirely tolerant. "Not as bad as I might have expected," he said, "but a little edgy, yes." He gave Scott a long, thoughtful look that lasted for a few moments of contemplative silence. "Given any thought to my suggestion?" he asked suddenly.

Scott slouched a little in his chair, his shoulders hunched. "I... it's a nice thought, but I don't think I'd enjoy it very much. As a passenger." Phillip had offered Jean the opportunity to fly one of the long supply runs at the end of the week - for the sake of the scenery they'd be passing over, he'd said. The presumption had been that Scott would be along, of course. Jean had given him one look and then demurred quietly, saying that they'd talk it over. They hadn't yet, of course, and Scott wondered if perhaps they could avoid it completely. He had actually been hoping that Phillip would have forgotten that he'd asked.

Phillip was quiet for another long moment. "Son," he finally said, gently, "have you ever heard of Wiley Post?"

Scott gave him a blank look for the non sequitur, then shook his head. "Uh, yeah. Pilot, right? Back in Lindbergh's day?" The name was definitely familiar, and that was what came to mind. Something to do with flying.

Phillip nodded. "Heck of a pilot, actually. Set the record for flying around the world twice in the 1930s. He had a plane, the Winnie Mae... he flew her in high-altitude tests, as well. Wore a pressure suit he'd designed himself. I think he reached something like fifty thousand feet."

"Early on in aviation history to be getting that high," Scott said, impressed.

Phillip nodded again, looking faraway for a moment. "Heck of a pilot, like I said. Was as well-known in his day as Lindbergh and Earhart. He died here in Alaska, actually. Flying a new experimental float plane." Phillip's eyes focused again, locking on Scott's face very intently. "Post bought his first plane with the money from a legal settlement. He'd been in an oil field accident..."

Scott knew, suddenly, what Phillip was about to say, even as the words came out of his grandfather's mouth.

"... and lost his eye."

Scott stared at his grandfather for a while, having difficulty coming up with a response to that. "He didn't start flying until after?" he finally asked.

"Set all of his records, flying with one eye. Almost seventy-five years ago. Makes you think, doesn't it? About how much of an obstacle the loss of an eye should be," Phillip said casually. "Now, son. Knowing that it's possible and has been possible for decades, are you going to stop stewing and get yourself back in the air?" Scott opened his mouth and then closed it again, helplessly, and Phillip shook his head, his expression gentle. "I don't mean right this second. You'll have to retest for your license, but for pity's sake, Scott. One-eyed pilots have never been automatically grounded. And in this day and age..."

"I'm afraid." It slipped out before he could stop it, and Scott hunched a little further in his chair. "I'm afraid it won't be the same..." And he couldn't justify flying the Blackbird anymore... could he? Not when there were all of these certified pilots on the team, pilots with a full range of vision... it would be self-indulgence, not to let them handle it. Possibly dangerous, too.

"Of course it won't. But it won't be something unrecognizable, either," Phillip said very seriously. "And besides. You'll never know until you try, will you?" Scott stared into his eggnog, and Phillip smiled. "It's called getting back on the horse, son," he said softly. "And you are too much like your father and like me to stay on the ground forever. You were born to fly."

"I've... missed it," Scott said a bit raggedly. "So much. It was the one thing I was sure I was going to lose..."

Phillip was shaking his head. "You'll fly again," he said very steadily. "There isn't a doubt in my mind. Now," he said with another of those warm smiles, "you just have to believe it, too."