The Tin Man

give it away. Well, it’s the same with your life. You want to share your life with someone else-not because they asked for it, or because they need it, but because you want to share, and the other person has something to give that you like and need as well. It’s a two-way deal.” Jon nodded, and Patrick could tell that at least some of what he said seemed to be making sense. “It’s about Helen, isn’t it, Jon?”

“Helen? What about Helen?”

“You like her, don’t you, Jon?”

“Helen is, like, maybe eight or ten years older than I am!” Masters retorted. “What makes you think I like her?”

“Age doesn’t matter, and you know it,” Patrick said. “She’s intelligent, she’s independent, she’s dynamic, and she’s cute. I see how you act around her…”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Jon,” Patrick said with a reassuring smile. “You try to play the boss, the head guy, but around Helen it’s as if you’re trying to impress her with how big a boss you can be. You don’t act the same way around me or Wendy or the board of directors-you’re either someone’s best friend, or you ignore them. Except with Helen. You seem to want to get her attention all the time, prove to her that you’re in control, unafraid, confident, and even cocky. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you act like a schoolkid trying to impress a girl he’s got a crush on.”

“Get outta town, Muck,” Masters said. He turned away from Patrick, scowling-but then his scowl broke into a grin. “You think Helen’s cute?”

“Of course,” Patrick said. “She’s kind of mysterious…”

“Yeah. Kinda exotic, forbidding, deep, dark, like those women in the Kama-sutra drawings,” Masters said, staring out the window as if he were studying her photograph. “You know she used to be married?”

“I think I heard that somewhere.”

“Yeah. Married a guy from England after she got her doctorate from Oxford. They broke up after they got to the States. No kids.”

“Well, I’d say you have a problem now, because you made her leave the company and she sounds pretty pissed off at you,” Patrick pointed out. “If you want to have a chance at telling her how you feel, you’d better…”

“Tell her how I feel? You mean, tell her I like her?” Jon asked incredulously. “Are you nuts?”

“What are you talking about, Jon?” Patrick asked in surprise. “You have feelings for Helen, but you’d just let her leave without saying anything to her?”

“What am I going to say to her? How can I tell her anything now? She’ll punch my lights out! She’ll strangle me!…”

“Jon, the worst defeat is never having tried to win,” Patrick said earnestly. “You have got to tell her. Maybe she will punch you out. Maybe she’ll still leave. Or maybe she’ll surprise you and stay, and even love you back. Who the hell knows? But you’ve got to try.”

Jon’s horror at the notion of even approaching Helen Kaddiri was changing right before Patrick’s eyes. Patrick watched him as he thought of speaking with her, of seeing her again. “Maybe you’re right. I should just go for it. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Patrick said warmly, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Muck, you’re pretty good at this. You and Paul ever talk like this?”

It was then that Patrick realized that he hadn’t thought of his brother for what seemed like a long time, and the reminder brought Paul’s awful, ugly situation crashing back. His smile vanished. He turned to look out the window.

“No,” he said somberly. “He was a kid when I was in college-he was doing his thing, and I was deep into mine. When he was in high school, I was a new Air Force officer, working like crazy to be the best; when he was in college, I was away at Dreamland. Besides, he was always busy with outside activities-class president, sports, parties, always on the go. But it’s funny-we hardly ever speak to each other but we know each other pretty well. It’s like we’re connected somehow.”

“It must be cool to have a brother,” Jon remarked.

“If you ever need a brother, Jon, I volunteer,” Patrick said. “I was never a very good big brother with Paul, but I do my best.”

“Thanks, Muck. You as my brother-Brigadier General Patrick S. McLanahan, my big brother. Cool. That makes me little Brad’s uncle, doesn’t it?”

“It sure does.”

“Very cool.” Jon put his arm around Patrick’s shoulder, and they stood there for a while, trying to reset their lives and shelter each other from the chaos around them. Jon turned for the elevators. “I gotta get going. I’ll stop in and say good-bye to Wendy and Bradley first…”

“One sec, Jon,” Patrick said. “I want to ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“About the BERP demonstration. You actually sat in the test fuselage when those explosives were set off?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Not you too, Muck? Are you going to chew me out too? You think I’m crazy too?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Patrick protested. Jon looked at him, puzzled. Patrick turned away, obviously wrestling with an important question. “I wanted to know…”

“Know what, Patrick?”

Patrick hesitated for a long moment, then asked, “Were you afraid, Jon? When those explosives went off, were you afraid?”

Masters was surprised-not that the question itself was unusual, but that it was coming from Patrick McLanahan, whom he considered to be one of the bravest and most heroic persons he had ever known. “Umm… actually, Patrick, to tell the truth, no, not at first. I guess I didn’t even think about it. I knew BERP would work, and I knew it would impress the FAA and the airline pukes if I stayed inside the test article when we blew it up, to show that BERP works. I thought it would be the ultimate testimonial-I was putting my ass on the line to show that BERP worked.”

He shook his head and his eyes grew wide as he recalled the moment the explosives were set off: “But I’ll tell you, Muck, when that first charge went off-whew, I nearly peed my pants. The second blast, when BERP set off the explosives, was even worse. The third blast-well, I thought I was going to die, plain and simple. That deck rolled up under me like a big carpeted steel bubble. When they say thrown around like a rag doll, boy, I know what they mean by that now!”

“But you weren’t scared? You sat in that fuselage with a hundred and fifty pounds of TNT under you, enough to bring down a large building, and you weren’t afraid?”

“I know it sounds like BS, Muck-but no, I wasn’t afraid,” Jon said. “I pressed that button with no problem whatsoever. And you know what?”

“You’d do it again,” Patrick interjected. “You’d do it a hundred times again. You’d sit right on a case of TNT to prove that your technology worked. You felt so strongly about yourself and what you had made that you were ready to risk your neck to prove it.”

“Right on. You understand. That’s a relief-man, I was beginning to think I was crazy. If you would have told me how stupid I was for doing what I did, I’d be hurt.”

“Jon, you were stupid,” Patrick said. “But sometimes we know we have to do something dangerous like that to prove a point. It only seems stupid to others.”

Masters nodded, glad to hear those words from Patrick. But there was obviously something more. “What is it, Muck?” he asked. “Why are you asking? Why are we talking about this?”

Patrick hesitated, then shook his head. “Just some stupid ideas I have of my own,” he said. “It’s nuts.”

“Nuts? You? Hardly. You’re the most level-headed, intelligent, calculating, no-nonsense, pragmatic guy I’ve ever known. What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing. Forget about it.”

Jon decided to drop it. “When I spoke with Hal Briggs and Chris Wohl when they came by after the demo,” he said, “they said ISA is very interested in some of the BERP applications you’ve been drawing up-the Ultimate Soldier ideas. They want to see a demonstration as soon as possible. I’ve spoken to the board, and they approved