Lost Yesterday

“I don't have to,” she said. “It's not part of my dream.”

It was enough logic for Armbruster to think about. If she were part of his dream, then why couldn't he be part of hers?

But how would she know where he opened the letter? He didn't want to bring the letter home because his wife might find it. And he certainly didn't want to read a perfumy letter in the cockpit of Air Force One. The President's pilot had to be above reproach.

Armbruster tried to think of the one place his wife would not spot the incriminating little plastic bag. At home there was none. Instead he chose his special locker at Andrews Air Force Base, home of Air Force One, the President's plane. Armbruster, the President's favorite pilot, was not scheduled to fly for a week, but he moved himself up in the rotation just to get a chance at being alone in the cockpit with the letter. He still didn't know how Joan would know where he read the letter, but everything had been so gloriously perfect with his dream that he decided not to take even that small chance.

The mission of the day was Cheyenne, Wyoming. The letter was safely sealed in the plastic bag inside his jacket.

Flying the plane that was called Air Force One when the President was aboard was easier than any other flight duty a pilot could have, even easier than commercial air. In commercial air, pilots always had to look out for other aircraft. But for this special jet, there was no real alertness required in that respect. An air corridor was cleared for miles around. And if any planes even got close to that corridor, Air Force jets would intercept and turn them away.

Once they were outside the Washington air space, the copilot and engineer took off their jackets and enjoyed a cup of coffee.

“Dale, can I take your jacket?” asked the flight engineer.

“No, I think I'll wear it,” said Armbruster. He wondered if it mattered to the luscious Joan whether he read it anywhere at work or whether it had to be read from behind the controls. He could go into the lavatory and read it there. But he felt there was something so mystical about this chance meeting that the lavatory would not do it justice. Besides, he wanted to be able to tell her the next time they met that he was in the cockpit at the controls when he saw her words. He would describe everything to her.

Colonel Armbruster waited until they were over Ohio before he sent the copilot back to the main cabin to speak to another member of the crew, and then gave the engineer a task that would keep him intent at his charts for ten minutes.

He put the controls on automatic pilot and settled back in the seat to read his letter. The bag opened easily but the letter had some oily substance on it. He wondered how heavy the perfume on that wonderful body had been. He opened the envelope and then saw a blank page. He didn't know why it was blank. He didn't quite know why it was in his hand. He put it down.

The sky was incredibly blue up here. Not a cloud, like the purest blue glass. There were lots of dials in front of him. Pretty dials. He turned around. No one was looking at him. He saw a red switch. He wondered what it would do. Would it make the plane bounce and hop? Would it do fun things? Could he change the color of the sky? Would anyone spank him?

These questions passed through what was left of the mind of Colonel Dale Armbruster as he flicked the red switch. Then he pushed the wheel in front of him. The plane went down. He pulled back the wheel. The plane went up. He turned the wheel. The plane pitched and banked.

Whee, thought Colonel Armbruster.

“Turbulence, Dale?” asked the engineer.

“No,” said Dale. He wondered how long he could do this before someone took him away and told him not to play with the plane anymore. He pushed the wheel forward, and the plane went down toward the clouds.

He went through the clouds. Everyone went through the clouds. And no one was stopping him. There was a lever to his right. He pushed it forward. The plane went faster. Whee.

“Dale, what the hell's goin' on there?” asked the flight engineer.

“Nothing,” said Colonel Armbruster. “Leave me alone.”

“I'm not bothering you. What's going on?”

“Nothing's going on. I'm not doing anything wrong.”

“Nobody said you were. We're in a power dive. Why are we in a power dive?”

“It's nice.”

“Dale? What the hell's going on?”

“My plane,” said Colonel Armbruster.

At a thousand feet the copilot came sliding back into the cabin, trying to get to the control. The last thing he heard before the shattering crash was the captain fighting him away, with a childlike scream. “Mine!”

The jet called Air Force One plowed into an Ohio parking lot at five hundred miles an hour. There wasn't ten feet of anything left connected. What had once been human life had to be collected in little plastic bags no bigger than the one that was now burned up along with the letter in the explosion.

* * *

Remo, Chiun, and Daphne Bloom arrived in Los Angeles an hour before the crash. Daphne was enthralled.

“We're here. In the home of the founder of Poweressence. Don't you feel the positiveness of it? The force of the great 'yes' transcending all?”

“No,” said Remo.

“You are most wise, child,” said Chiun in English, and then in Korean:

“Even in India there aren't people that stupid. And India has got more gods than rice.”

“This is California, Little Father. They have more gods than rice also,” said Remo in Korean.

“I love the beauty of your language. Is that the Sinanju religion you were talking of?”

“No,” said Remo.

“Yes,” said Chiun.

“What a beautiful dichotomy,” said Daphne.

“Have you ever met Dolomo or Kathy Bowen?” asked Remo.

“We saw recordings of Himself several times. But Kathy regularly visits the temples. And she has one in her own home. She attributes her success to Poweressence unlocking her life forces.”

“Is she high up in the organization?”

“She knows the Dolomos personally. She has dinner with them. She is a personal friend of Rubin Dolomo himself. Can anyone help but be successful being near them?”

“Does she help people who are going to be tried? Ever hear anything about that?” asked Remo.

“Oh yes. She was the one who announced on her show Amazing Humanity that people who have suffered hopeless cases have suddenly with the help of Poweressence been freed of evil and negative forces. And it was so. The people were freed. They escaped the persecution of the government.”

“Not all,” said Remo.

“Every one,” said Daphne.

“What about the Dolomos themselves?”

“Because they are closer to the forces of goodness, they have to face the greatest forces of evil. The United States government has to persecute them, because the government is evil.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“If the government weren't evil, why would they persecute the Dolomos?”

“Maybe they don't think that an alligator in a swimming pool is nearly as proper as a letter to the editor.”

“Oh, that.”

“You think alligators are good?”

“You don't understand. You just believe the partial story from a slanted media. That alligator was attracted by the evil of the columnist. But I suppose you don't have enough understanding to see that.”

“I hope I never do,” said Remo. “Where does Kathy Bowen live?”

“California, right near here,” said Daphne.

“Where else,” said Remo.