Michael Crichton
Airframe
Aviation legend Charley Norton, 78, speaking to reporters in 1970 after an airplane crash
The irony of the Information Age is that it has given new respectability to uninformed opinion.
The damn things weigh half a million pounds, fly a third of the way around the world, and they carry passengers in greater comfort and safety than any vehicle in the history of mankind. Now, are you fellas really going to stand there and tell us you know how to do the job better? Are you going to pretend you know anything about it at all? 'Cause it looks to me like you boys are just stirring folks up for your own reasons.
Veteran reporter John Lawton, 68, speaking to the American Association of Broadcast Journalists in 1995
MONDAY
ABOARD TPA 545
5:18 a.m.
Emily Jansen sighed in relief. The long flight was nearing an end. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the airplane. In her lap, little Sarah squinted in the unaccustomed brightness as she noisily sucked the last of her bottle, and pushed it away with tiny fists. "That was good, wasn't it?" Emily said. "Okay… up we go…"
She raised the infant onto her shoulder, began to pat her back. The baby gave a gurgling belch, and her body relaxed.
In the next seat, Tim Jansen yawned and rubbed his eyes. He had slept through the night, all the way from Hong Kong. Emily never slept on planes; she was too nervous.
"Morning," Tim said, looking at his watch. "Just a couple of hours more, hon. Any sign of breakfast?"
"Not yet," Emily said, shaking her head. They had taken Transpacific Airlines, a charter from Hong Kong. The money they saved would be useful when they set up housekeeping at the University of Colorado, where Tim was going to be an assistant professor. The flight had been pleasant enough-they were in the front of the plane-but the stewardesses seemed disorganized, the meals coming at odd times. Emily had turned down dinner because Tim was asleep, and she couldn't eat with Sarah sleeping in her lap.