HBWnovel Chapter 234 The landing
Chapter 234 The landing
"Am I?" Tristan parried question with a question. "Maybe I should wonder if my next dream will be prophetic as well."
Derek pressed his lips together and shook his head, at a loss for words. Instead of talking, he busied himself with checking his seatbelts and putting his tablet into its protective travel case.
Soon the steward returned with a microphone, which he gave to Tristan. He thanked her.
"Passengers," he said as a test.
Tristan's voice, somewhat tinny from the poor microphone quality, came from the dynamics placed over the short length of the plane. The two dozen people who were discussing the alarming events in place between each other, paused.
"This is Tristan Gemello speaking. Yeah, I should've said, 'my crew', instead. You've all heard what our steward said. Things aren't good. But they aren't too bad, either. We won't be crashing, we will glide nicely to some empty corn field, leaving alien-worthy trails over it... The equipment in the baggage will be a toast, sure, but it's insured. And all of us will be fine."
Tristan's calm voice was like a balm on his team's anxieties. All those people—simple dancers, musicians, music technicians and other helpers—could now believe in Tristan's authority. Like they always did in the past.
"All you need to do is to sit tight, wait, and do everything the plane personnel says. After all the work you've done for me, sitting in place for ten minutes should be the easiest thing in your lives. Now, I'm turning this thing off."
Tristan found the switch on the side of the microphone and flicked it, then passed the mic back to the steward. Although the man wasn't the one Tristan targeted with his speech, the aura of calm he was projecting reached the steward as well.
He looked much less nervous than before and smiled at Tristan with genuine gratitude.
"This will be so helpful, Mr. Gemello. Panic is extremely unhelpful in those situations. Anyway, if you need something else, this is probably your last opportunity to ask."
Tristan shook his head.
"No, thanks. This is the last thing."
The steward nodded and went down to the airplane cabin, checking that everybody got their seatbelts on and their seats straightened, and showing safety measures to people who didn't figure them out.
Tristan's own seatbelt was on already. He sat straighter in it and closed his eyes.
'Was there anything else I could do? No, I don't think so.'
Just answering this question to himself took Tristan a minute. At this minute, the turbulence around the plane became more pronounced. He felt a slight tilt of it to the sight, but wasn't sure if it was intentional or not.
Tristan opened his eyes and looked out of the window. Distracting himself wasn't a realistic option—Tristan knew he'd think about the plane in the background of his mind no matter what he'd do.
He chose to meet the danger (the ground) with eyes open wide instead.
Soon, the drop of altitude became felt in Tristan's ears. There was more shaking. It was similar to a normal landing, but more rapid and more sharp.
Derek nodded.
"Obviously. Of course. Ugh... I feel like my bones have liquefied."
Tristan was already standing on his feet, with his cabin bag hanging from his shoulder. Now he reached out to offer Derek a helping hand.
"C'mon, you aren't so old and weak that you can't even walk off a plane crash," Tristan joked.
"I'm old enough to be your father, young man..." Derek grumbled. Since Derek was 40 years old, he was not even lying. Nevertheless, he took Tristan's hand and, with his help, pulled himself to his feet. "Thank you, Tristan."
Tristan just nodded.
Near them, the steward had opened the front exit and lowered an extending ladder outside. It was barely reaching the ground and very steep, but it was enough to descend.
One by one, people trickled to the front exit and got outside, where Derek (who pulled himself together) and Tristan checked on them and offered some words of encouragement.
The place where the plane landed was an open potato field, as far as Tristan could judge. He *thought* the plants looked like potatoes. They definitely weren't any illegal plants used for making drugs.
The last ones to leave the plane were the two pilots, the steward, and the engineer. The pilots immediately were surrounded by the gratitude from all not crashed people.
People got scratches, bruises and seatbelt burns in various extents, but those were all of their injuries.
"Thank you for this relatively soft landing as well," Tristan said genuinely. "When we get back to civilization, I should send you some expensive signed merchandise for your trouble."
"We should thank YOU, Mr. Gemello," the first pilot said, shaking his head. "Seriously. I will admit, all our crew got pretty irked when you insisted we double-checked everything, and in the end, the turbine still broke—but it really helped. You've been so sure about this entire thing back when we started flying that I got thinking about 'what ifs' too... And, well, I was ready to land this broken bird when we needed it."
He gestured at the plane behind the pilot.
Despite the steward's fears, the plane wasn't burning as far as Tristan could see, but it looked like some potatoes did. It didn't seem like the fire was spreading, though—the soil and the plants were too wet for this. Well-watered.
Tristan smiled at the first pilot, wondering if his actions really made as much difference.
"I will still send that gift," Tristan promised. He looked at Derek and his crew, then around himself. On the horizon, he could see the faintest hints of a town. "But first, I think someone needs to call emergency services of the nearest city to get us out of here. Perhaps we can even salvage something from our equipment."
At least for now, he was ahead of the assassin after his head. Whoever he was, he would need some time to locate Tristan and get there.
Unless he went straight to Los Angeles and waited. Because that's where Tristan was going, and there was no way around it.
"I wonder if I can still get to my next concert on schedule," Tristan added quietly.