He was just sucking down the last drops of the fresh, frothy concoction as he knocked on April Adams’s door for a third time. The Vita Boost left a slight tingle in his mouth, and he wondered if it was going to put a tingle in his stomach as well. He had been having some stomach pain lately. He hoped his doctor wouldn’t forbid his daily shot of Jamba Juice.

The door opened a crack.

“You can’t come in,” a boy said through the narrow opening. His eyes looked frazzled, like he’d been up all night drinking Coke and eating Sugar Pops.

“I’m here to fix the dishwasher. Your mom called me earlier this week,” Stanley said, pulling a repair order from his jacket. He showed it to the kid. “The contact name I have is April Adams. Is that your mom?”

Charlie nodded. “But you still can’t come in. My grandma is sick, and we can’t have any visitors.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I’m not a visitor,” Stanley said, putting his fingers around the edge of the door. “I’m a repairman. I’m just here to do a job. That’s it. Your grandma doesn’t even have to know that I was here.”

Charlie stood resolute. “Sorry,” he said, starting to close the door.

Stanley locked his elbow to stop the door, then tensed his muscles for the push.

Charlie seemed perplexed by Stanley’s inability to remove his hand. “I said I’m sorry, mister.”

Stanley grinned. “Me too.”

Ten

ten

The airbus cut through the ink-black sky like a giant white whale. Most of its occupants slept peacefully, many enticed to their private dreamland through a mixture of melatonin and alcohol. A scattered few stayed awake to watch the movie, a B-grade, cable-network reject that didn’t merit its captive audience. One couple argued quietly between themselves about the exact number of attendants that should stand in their wedding: the girl was up to seven, the guy was holding at three.

August was about to force them to agree to five when the cabin rumbled again.

None of the sleeping people woke. And none of the movie-watching people blinked. The cabin had been shaking the entire trip, and like voyagers set on the high seas and resigned to the ebb and flow of the waves, the patrons of the airbus had decided to set their worries aside and just ride out the whole ordeal.

August considered that the odds of the airbus crashing to the ground were relatively slim. He looked over at Xandria and wondered what his odds were, considering everything else.

“Call your wife again,” she said.

“She said she would call when she had the Gutenberg and could send us the images,” August said. “I can assure you that she won’t forget.”

Xandria held out the phone. “Call.”