Atlanta Center told 37 Whiskey Bravo to contact Charlotte Approach on frequency 124.7.

"Roger Atlanta, 124.7, so long, Whiskey Bravo."

'I hope they give me 36 Right,' Paul thought. This would reduce his taxi time significantly since Wilson Air Center, where the private planes parked, was right off runway 36 Right.

"Charlotte Approach, 37 Whiskey Bravo at 1 Zero thousand with Uniform."

"Roger Whiskey Bravo, expect runway 36 Right, information Uniform is current."

'Yes!' Paul thought. 'Even though I'm 4 days late, I don't have to taxi an extra 8 minutes.'

"Roger, 36 Right, I have Uniform," Paul informed the controller again.

This had become standard procedure between pilots and controllers. It seemed that no matter how clear you were informing a controller on your initial contact that you had the current airport information, the controller would always repeat to the pilot what the information was. 'Maybe they just don't listen, or maybe they just want to make sure you have it.' Paul thought.

Paul didn't care. He had been doing this for almost thirty years. If it hadn't changed in thirty years, why should it change now? Paul lined the Beech King Air 200 up on a seven mile final for runway 36 Right. A cold front had moved through Charlotte early that day and even though it was now 1:42 a.m., the wind was still blowing pretty hard from the northwest. Paul pushed on the right rudder to straighten the nose as he gently touched the left main wheel to the pavement, holding the right wheel off for just a second, compensating for the left to right crosswind.

As he taxied the airplane to the ramp, his passengers started to come back to life from their slumber. Following the commands of the lineman waving the lights, he closed the condition levers, which stopped the fuel flow to the engines, and brought the airplane to rest.

"Great job!" his boss yelled up to him from the back. Now Paul would have to put a smile on his face hiding his annoyance about being four days late and the fact that it was almost 2:00 a.m. and he still had another thirty minutes of work with his post flight and a one hour drive home.

"Thanks Bill," he said. "When are we heading back to Stuttgart?" This was where they went most of the time during the winter months. His boss and friends liked to duck hunt in Arkansas during the winter. The problem was they liked it so much that three day trips turned into one week trips and lots of flying back and forth to bring more people out and back.

"Don't know," Bill said. "I'll let you know. Take care."

"See yah," Paul said.

This was typical, but then again, that was the life of a corporate pilot. No schedule, no certainty of when you were going to fly. Whenever the boss wanted to go, that's when you went to work. 'At least on this trip, I've made major progress toward my dream,' Paul thought. Having completed his proposal for sub-light space travel, he had faxed the proposal to the president of Intersolar Space Excursions. At least the dream of traveling forward in time had actual substance. Unlike science fiction, time can be altered. All a person has to do in order to accomplish that is go really fast. Why no one had thought of this idea and taking it and turning it into reality was a mystery to Paul. 'How could I be the first person on the planet to think of this? I'm just a fifty two year old corporate pilot,' he thought. Every scientist and physicist and technical student in the country understands time relativity. The GPS system on board the King Air that had just navigated him to Charlotte Douglas Airport compensates the satellite clocks for Einstein's theory. So it bewildered him to think that he would be the first person to come up with this idea. 'Why was it esoteric?' he wondered. And what was even more puzzling and disturbing to Paul was the fact that when he mentioned this to the average person, they would look at him like he was crazy. They didn't believe it, and sometimes they refused to even listen to him when he tried to explain it to someone. They would just look at him like he was living in a fantasy world. But now his fantasy was on paper and heading to a man who could help make it a reality! 'Ah, but what the hell, even if nothing happens, it was fun working on the concept,' he thought.

Paul wondered what Mr. Rodding would think of his proposal when he read it? But more realistically, he wondered IF he would even read it or just toss it into the trash. 'Oh well, I better button the airplane up and head home. It's late and I'm tired.'

Paul finished securing the airplane, put his suitcase into the trunk of his 2000 Mitsubishi Galant and started the engine. While it was warming, he turned on his cell phone and waited to see if his favorite 'Who' song would sound off indicating that there were any messages. Having grown up listening to the rock band, 'The Who,' Paul had set his ring tone and message indicator to this Iconic Band. The song, 'Won't Get Fooled Again', resonated out of the phone, indicating he had messages, so he dialed voice mail. He had three messages, the first from his oldest daughter, one from his lady friend and the other from Mr. Rodding of Intersolar Space Excursions. Paul couldn't believe it! His hand started to shake as he listened to the message from Mr. Rodding.

"Mr. Nystrom, this is David Rodding of Intersolar Space Excursions, Incorporated. I read your proposal and we here at ISE are fascinated with it. Please call me at my office tomorrow morning so we can talk. The number is 213-514-4453. Looking forward to hearing from you, goodnight."

Just like that, a fleeting improbable dream was now a reality, or at least a partial reality. Paul listened to the message two more times before he hung up the phone, partly because of the excitement it stirred in him and partly so he could believe that it really happened. As he shifted the car into drive and began to proceed out of the airport, Paul had only one thought on his mind: 'I can't wait until tomorrow so I can talk with Mr. Rodding!'

Paul pulled into his garage, turned off the car, and pushed the garage-door-opener button to close the door. It was cold and it was 3:26 a.m. Although he was tired, he was also anxious. He just wanted it to be 12 o'clock today which would be 9:00 a.m. west coast time, the time he could call Mr. Rodding.

'Time. What a concept,' Paul thought. For years now, his flying, reading, studying, learning and even watching specials about the Universe on the Discovery Channel had brought him to this moment, to this very point in space time. If what he proposed could somehow become reality, his mundane life would become anything but. In fact, his life how he now lived it, would no longer be. And for that matter, mankind's reality and relativity would ultimately change. All this would happen because of an idea from a fifty-two year old corporate pilot. 'What is the definition of flying' Paul thought. He had that one etched in his brain from years ago. 'Flying is hours and hours of boredom interspersed with a few moments of sheer terror.' Fortunately for him, like most pilots, he had survived his few moments of sheer terror. But now, more importantly, the hours of boredom in which he used to sometimes imagine himself accelerating into the future was on the precipice of reality.

And how that reality would change! 'First and foremost, this would be the greatest achievement since, since—well, since what? The invention of the wheel? The...