To: 
From: "Jay  P Hailey" 
Reply-To: trekcreative{at}yahoogroups.com


Title: Accidents
Author: Jay P. Hailey  (JayPHailey{at}aol.com) Series: Vista City
Part: 5/8
Rating [PG]

Scott bristled at Jerry's tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, it's just that you seem to be upset, and yet when I ask you,
I get this he-man can-do attitude, like it's for the record or
something."

Scott rolled his eyes "It's not that I'm trying to freeze you out or
anything."

"I'm not asking as a reporter, I'm not asking as a pilot or your
business partner or your Aunt Ethyl. I'm asking as your friend."

"You're always a reporter."

"Well, okay. I admit that. But I promise that I'll quote you anonymously."

"Jerry, we killed a couple of people last week end."

"Oh? Is that it, then?"

"A little more damage to the plane and I wouldn't have been able to
recover in time. We were almost killed ourselves."

"I understand. Do you need a little more time? Do you want to take off
for today?"

"Uh, Jennifer wants me to quit flying the plane."

"Oh. That's a tough one."

"You think so?"

"Scott, they put you in a rocket and shot you out into space. Away
from air, light, food and water. There were so many ways to die up there,
that they never did count them all. You know these things better than
I."

"What's your point?"

"When they pointed at the rocket and asked if you wanted to fly in it,
what did you say?"

"I said yes. Why do you ask?"

"Why?"

"Well, it was my duty..."

"Bullshit! You jumped into that rocket and flew it away because it was
a chance to fly farther and faster than most people ever get to. Your
landing pad was on the moon, for Christ's sake."

Scott thought it over "Yeah, I suppose you could put it that way."

"I can fly a long way, Scott, but I'll never fly that far. I can fly
pretty fast, but I'll never fly that fast."

Scott remembered the acceleration of the Saturn Five rocket. Had he ever
had so much fun?

"I have to focus on what's important, here, Jerry. I'm a family man,
now. I can't afford the risk."

"Yeah, but life is a risk. Can you afford to lose yourself?"

"I am not a bomber. I am not a plane junky."

"You may not be the bomber, but you're the guy who makes it fly.
You're a born pilot. That's who you are."

"I am Jennifer's husband. I am a father. That's who I am, too."

"Then you've got something to work out, don't you?"

-*-

"This is Jim Hill reporting live from the high rise fire in downtown
San Francisco." Scott was at home Sunday evening, watching TV, and
trying to think through what had been said.

CNN was on the scene of another disaster. Scott viewed the news with a
certain amount of disdain. Anyone who has had an incident that they were
involved in reported on the TV knows that what shows up on the screen only
bears a coincidental relationship to the truth. Scott had been reported on
relatively often for someone who never held a public office.

"The San Francisco Holden Inn, a thirty story high rise is on fire,
tonight, and there is confirmed word of people inside."

Scott's eyes bugged out. The San Francisco Holden Inn was the site of a
seminar on the Yakuza given to law enforcement agencies. This Sunday
several members of his Special Investigations Squad were supposed to be at
the conference.

"The hotel was under construction, this evening and there are
unconfirmed rumors of a propane tank explosion somewhere on the fifth floor
of the building."

"We have tape now, of a conversation recorded some five minutes ago.
Apparently this is a Police Officer in the building requesting something
about his motorcycle."

The reporter's face was replaced by a long shot of the building, burning.
In the evening light smoke was being replaced with bright orange flares
from the fire. With a mounting sense of horror, Scott recognized the voice
of one of his own detectives, Gary Dawson. The recording was scratchy.

"... She's a nineteen fifty Harley Hydra-Glide, man! You don't dump
burning shrapnel and fire retardant on a nineteen fifty Hydra-Glide! Please
get her out of the parking lot."

A sub-title flowed across the screen describing who was talking. Scott
listened to Gary. Gary Dawson was a motorcyclist in the purest sense. He
was in love with his motorcycle and the lifestyle that seemed to come with
it. Gary Dawson had been a Ordinance Disposal Officer at the Vista City PD,
until Scott requested that he be assigned to Special Investigations.

"What floor are you on, Sir?"

"The twentieth. I can almost see my bike from here."

"Please remain calm, sir. How many people are with you now?"

"Uh, twenty-seven."

"And how many of those are Police Officers?"

Uh, Six of us. Why? Do you want us to arrest the fire?"

Another voice came on. "Officer Dawson, this is Captain Biggs of the
San Francisco Fire Department. Do you read me?"

"Yeah, Capt'n Biggs. Are you on the ground outside?"

"Never mind that. You need to listen carefully and not panic, okay?"

"Okay. Go ahead."

"You need to quickly and quietly move those people up to the roof."

"Yes, sir. Why?"

"You're cut off below. The fifth through seventh floors are fully
involved. Secondly you're in danger of being cut off from above. The
twenty-third floor is partially involved. Do you understand your situation,
there, son?"

"Oh, yeah. Okay we're moving. Just one more thing."

"Yes, Dawson?"

"Please move my bike. If I don't, um... well..."

"I understand, son. We'll take care of her. Off."

The reporter came back on the screen. "We have not heard anything from
inside the building for the last five minutes. The real mystery here is
just what sort of police officer Gary Dawson is. There is no record of him
from the SFPD. We're working on that at this time. The people trapped in
the building should be coming out of the top any moment, now, unless the
fire has indeed cut them off on the twenty-third floor. Back to you,
Lynn."

The reporter in San Francisco was replaced by an earnest woman behind a desk.

"The big question running through the minds of experts and the public
at large is: How could the fire grow out of control so quickly? To answer
that we have Safety Expert Maxwell Purdue."

The camera switched to show an intense and excited man. "Lynn, the San
Francisco Holden Inn was undergoing renovation. This included heavy
construction on the lower floors."

He waved his hands at a computer generated graphic depicting the building.
"The construction affected the main water system, causing a shutdown
in the main water arteries, including the building's sprinkler system! This
was combined with possible unsafe practices at the construction site on the
fifth floor. I don't understand why they had a propane tank up there to
begin with! An accident of some type occurred. It's possible that it had to
do with welding equipment. Once the explosion occurred.." The graphic
now changed to show a theatrical explosion. "..then a raging fire was
almost guaranteed. In my opinion as a trained safety expert, the whole
building should have been closed! It was just unsafe!"

The camera showed the Anchor woman again.

"Sources indicate that the renovation led many groups to change to
another building, including the last minute relocation of a law enforcement
seminar. Jim, could these police officers we hear in the cellular phone
conversation have been confused as to the location of that seminar?"

"I don't have any information about that, Lynn but we have pictures
from helicopters in the air over the blazing building behind us!"

The view on the television changed again. The view was from a mounted
camera on a news helicopter. Scott blanched as he saw the smoke from the
fire in the dying light. The winds near the tower were heavy. The sky was
filled with helicopters. Scott saw at least three others in the area near
the building.

"This is Michael Moran aboard News Copter Eight in San Francisco. We
can see survivors on the roof of the building, now."



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