Priya looked at me.
“Voss?”
Then:
“Phoenix?”
That name hit harder than turbulence.
Mercer said:
“You know her?”
“I know the NIGHTGLASS accident.”
His eyes flicked toward me.
I said:
“Later.”
“What do you have?”
They summarized.
Multiple hydraulic indications.
Severe loss of conventional control response.
Some limited thrust response.
Electrical buses intact.
Autopilot unusable.
Aircraft still slowly descending.
Crew already working checklists and coordinating with dispatch and air traffic control.
Good.
No amateurs.
No captain giving up.
Professionals facing rare, ugly combination.
I looked at instruments.
Then engine data.
Then attitude.
There are moments where old knowledge returns not like memory but sensation.
Thirty-one years disappeared.
I could smell burned insulation at Edwards.
Hear Colonel Hayes shouting.
Feel right side of my face burning under oxygen mask.
I forced present back.
“You’re getting some directional effect from power changes?”
Priya nodded.
“Slow.”
“Unpredictable.”
“But yes.”
That was something.
Not salvation.
Something.
I said:
“Then don’t chase attitude.”
Mercer understood immediately.
Large corrections could create larger delayed response.
I did not give him magic maneuver.
I did not take controls.
We discussed high-level strategy:
Use whatever limited controllability remained.
Avoid aggressive oscillations.
Keep airplane stable enough to reach a survivable area.
Let captain fly.
Let first officer coordinate systems, checklists, and ATC.
I became another brain.
That is less cinematic than grabbing yoke.
It is also how professionals survive.
Air traffic control offered several airports.
Portland had long runways and emergency services.
But trajectory made conventional landing uncertain.
Mercer asked:
“Can we put it on runway?”
I looked at him.
“You know answer.”
He did.
Maybe.
Not yet.
Priya said:
“Columbia corridor gives us space.”
Captain nodded.
ATC began clearing airspace.
Fire and rescue repositioned.
Dispatch engineers joined radio.
We were not three heroes alone in sky.
Dozens of people were working same problem.
That matters.
Then one of engine indications fluctuated.
Priya swore softly.
“What?”
“Left-side oil pressure trending down.”
Not engine explosion.
Not yet.
But if one engine degraded, whatever directional authority thrust differences gave us might disappear.
Mercer whispered:
“How long?”
“No way to know.”
