His right hand rested on the , not a yoke but a video-game controller for a 70-ton bird. Below it, the Thrust Levers sat at idle, two metal fingers waiting for his command.
He tilted his head up. A labyrinth of switches, guarded toggles, and pushbuttons. (inertial reference), APU (the little engine that could), Fuel Pumps (four of them, humming in his imagination). The ENGINE FIRE buttons, square and terrifying, waiting to be pushed and twisted in a nightmare. The Cockpit Voice Recorder test—a ritual he’d performed a hundred times in the sim. a320 cockpit layout
He smiled. The cockpit wasn’t a layout. It was a home he hadn’t moved into yet. His right hand rested on the , not
Tomorrow, the sim would be cold, and the instructor would sneer. But tonight, Leo could walk the aisle between the seats blindfolded. He knew where the clipped, the sundrop (the overhead light), the tiny ash tray welded shut in a no-smoking age. A labyrinth of switches, guarded toggles, and pushbuttons
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