“There are many kinds of ass, love,” he said, “but on the modern battlefield they are all electronic.” He raised his glass to Spencer. “And the fighter this man helped us design can detect, sort, identify, and, believe it or not’s nullify anything electronic.”
McLaren leaned toward Jillian as if he was going to let her in on a great secret. “Jillian, dove, the modem battlefield is a blizzard, an invisible electronic blizzard. Tanks, missiles, computers, planes— all humming away’s their electronic brains adding to the blizzard.”
McLaren smiled slyly. “And into this storm flies our fighter. It doesn’t drop bombs, it doesn’t shoot missiles. It just sends a signal. A signal like the voice of God. A signal like the Devil’s trumpet. A signal that over-fucking-whelms every fucking thing. A signal that turns everything off!” He slammed his hand on the table to emphasize his point and there was the tinkling sound of glass and cutlery being rattled on the table cloth.
“By the year 2013,” McLaren continued, “all four branches of the military will be flying our fighter. Three hundred units at 350 million dollars a pop. That’s 105 billion dollars.” McLaren got a faraway look in his eyes. “One hundred and five billion dollars.
Shelley McLaren giggled and looked over at Jillian. “It sounds so naughty when he talks about money, doesn’t it? The pornography of big numbers, you know.”
Jackson McLaren went back to his usual habit of ignoring his wife’s remarks. “You want to build a plane, ask a pilot. You want to build a plane that’s out of this world, ask an astronaut. So that’s what we did. And look what we got.”
Spencer smiled modestly.
“Recite the specs for us, Spencer,” said McLaren. It was almost—but not quite—an order, as if he was asking Spencer to more or less sing for his supper.
“Come on, Spencer,” McLaren urged with a laugh. “For me. Just once. It’s so beautiful when you say it. It’s like poetry or something. Hell, it’s better than poetry… and it sure as hell pays better. Don’t you think, Spencer.”
Spencer nodded. “Two McLaren engines pumping twenty-five thousand pounds of thrust,” he recited smoothly and easily. “Ninety feet long. It stands thirty feet off the hardstand. It has a wingspan of seventy-five feet.”
“Fully extended,” Jackson McLaren put in, as if the two women were actually wondering about it.
Spencer nodded, as if allowing himself to be corrected. “Fully extended. It will have a top speed of eighteen hundred miles per hour. A ceiling of fifty-five thousand feet. A range of three thousand miles. And a crew … a crew of two…”
Jillian was staring intently at her husband. She was not mesmerized by this litany of facts and figures, but at the way Spencer reeled them off. It was as if she was not quite sure who he was, as if he had become a completely different person… a stranger to her.
“Just two?” Jillian asked.
This time Jackson ignored Spencer’s wife for a change. “But the best part’ the best part is that the computer system that runs the whole shebang is at least fifteen years down the road. It’s out there in the future somewhere but…, we start getting our dollars today.” Jackson McLaren smiled broadly. “Don’t you just love the way democracy works? God knows I do.” He guffawed heartily.
Shelley McLaren feigned innocence. “I’ve forgotten, Jackson,” she said, “who’s the enemy now that we need your marvelous new plane to defend us from?”
“The enemy?” McLaren replied without missing a beat. “At this moment? You are, my dear, you are.”
“That’s very funny,” said Shelley deadpan. “You just wait until I pitch my electronic blizzard…”
“And we don’t say ‘plane,’ sweet,” said McLaren. “We say ‘airborne electronic warfare platform.’ ”
“How poetic.” Shelley and Jackson blew each other a kiss, just to show each other they were just kidding.
“Can I ask a question?” said Jillian diffidently. Something had just occurred to her.
“Of course,” said McLaren expansively. “Ask us anything you want.”
“The sound…” said Jillian. “The signal it sends out. What will it sound like?”
“Oh,” said Jackson, “humans can’t hear it, dove, humans can’t hear it at all.”
One of the McLaren servants entered and whispered something in Shelley’s ear. She stood up and gestured to her husband. “Come, Jackson,” he said. “Our darling daughter Augusta has summoned us to her bedside.”
Jackson stood up, too. “Ah, the goodnight kiss. After forking over her allowance, the most important moment of the day.” He started for the door with his wife. “Behold the glorious joys of parenthood,” he said sardonically.
Once they had left the room, Spencer leaned over, moving closer to his wife. He took one of her hands in both of his and stroked it softly and gently.
“You are so far away tonight,” he said. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“I’m here,” said Jillian hesitantly.
Spencer moved his chair a little closer. “Come on, Jilly… I know you. There’s something… tell me. What is it? There’s something on your mind.”
Jillian shrugged. “I don’t understand any of this,” she said bleakly. “I don’t understand any of these people. I don’t understand anything they’re saying. It’s like they’re speaking in some kind of code I can’t break.”
“Even me?” Spencer asked.
Jillian looked sad as she nodded. “Yes… Spencer, I feel,” she shrugged as if not sure of what to say next.
“Lost?” He filled in the word for her. “I know. I do, too. But if we’re together we’re not lost, are we? We have each other, Jill. Always. You know that.”
“Why do you have to build that plane?” She could feel a bubble of anger burst inside her. “The way he talks about it, the way you talk about it. It’s not—”
“Not what?”
Jillian looked him square in the eye. “It’s not you, Spencer. It’s not you.”
This time it was Spencer who shrugged. “I’ve told you. It’s just business, Jilly.”
“You used to say you’d fly forever” she said sadly, as if mourning the Spencer she used to know. “You used to say they would have to bury you in the sky.”
“They almost did,” he replied. “I never want to be that far away from you. I never want to be away from you at all.” He moved closer to her and looked into her eyes, deep and searching.
“What are you looking for when you do that?” Jillian asked. “It’s like you’re trying to read something faint and far off.”
Spencer whispered, “What are you hiding?”
“How do you know I’m hiding anything?” Jillian shifted uncomfortably.
Spencer leaned forward and kissed her. “How do I know?” he said. “Because I know you.”
Slowly, Jillian took his hand and placed it on his belly. She did not have to say anything. Spencer’s dark eyes lit up.
“Yes?”
Jillian nodded. “Yes.”
Silently a waiter entered the room and began clearing the table. He was as unobtrusive as possible, but the spell between Jillian and Spencer was broken.
The waiter reached for Jillian’s plate and then stopped. Nothing on it had been eaten.
“Did you find your dish unsatisfactory, ma’am?” the servant asked diffidently.
“It was fine,” Jillian replied. “I just was not terribly hungry, thank you.”
Just then Jackson McLaren returned to the room in time to hear the exchange between Jillian and the waiter. His wife was right behind him.
“Are you sure, dove? Howard usually makes quite a cunning langoustino.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
The waiter cleared the plate, the uneaten crustaceans staring up at her like big orange bugs.