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Looks Like She Picked the Wrong Week to Quit Drinking Apple Juice

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“What have we got, Sadie?” The ATC watch manager swept into the tower, tossing her coat aside.

“Glad you’re here, boss. We have JetAqua Flight 195, a 747 en route from JFK to Orlando, 425 on board. Engine trouble and probable fuel leak, requesting emergency landing. ETA, uh … nine minutes.”

“Mmm. Full tanks, then. Dammit. How’s the incoming traffic look? Anything that can’t wait?” She stepped up to a window, the round gem on her forehead glinting in the sunlight as she shook her head in worry.

“Don’t think so, ma’am. We’re holding runway three. Our fire engine is in place, city engines expected in five.”

“Okay, let me look at the details. Who’s flying this crate, anyway?”

“Uh, well. About that.”

The radio crackled to life. “Beach City, this is JetAqua one-niner-five, eight minutes out. Fuel leak is now confirmed. Do we have clearance?”

The watch manager paled. “Oh my gem. I know that voice. They’re still letting that idiot fly after last time?” She wheeled on Sadie. “It’s Oveur, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

Sadie winced. “’Fraid so, ma’am.”