April 1975 - Burbank, California
Tommy's studio apartment was a fifteen-minute drive from the Hawkey plant.
One room serving as bedroom, living room, and dining room. Kitchenette in the corner. Bathroom barely large enough to turn around in. $180 a month.
It was all he needed. A place to sleep between shifts at work.
He furnished it simply: bed from a secondhand store, small table, two chairs, desk for the occasional paperwork he brought home. And one luxury item: a Hewlett-Packard HP-65 programmable calculator. $795—nearly a month's rent. But necessary.
The HP-65 could store programs on magnetic cards. Tommy used it for quick calculations at home. Radar cross-section estimates. Electromagnetic scattering problems. The kind of math that would have taken hours by hand.
Technology was changing. Faster every year.
Tommy's first weekend with Sarah after the move was scheduled for late April.
He picked her up at Linda's parents' house in Pasadena. Sarah was five now, taller than he remembered. Wearing a yellow dress. Clinging to Linda's leg.
"Go with Daddy, honey," Linda said gently. "He's excited to see you."
Sarah looked up at Tommy uncertainly. "Where are we going?"
"To my new apartment. I got us some games to play. And we can go to the park."
"I want to stay with Mommy."
Tommy felt something crack inside his chest. But he kept his voice steady. "Just for the weekend. Then you'll come back to Mommy. Okay?"
Sarah reluctantly took his hand.
The weekend was awkward. Tommy didn't know how to entertain a five-year-old. He'd bought board games she was too young for. Taken her to parks where she didn't want to play. Made meals she didn't eat.
By Sunday evening, both of them were exhausted.
"Daddy?" Sarah asked as they drove back to Pasadena.
"Yes?"
"Do you not like me?"
Tommy almost drove off the road. "What? Of course I like you. I love you."
"Then why don't you live with us anymore?"
How do you explain to a five-year-old that her father chose his career over her? That he was too obsessed with solving electromagnetic scattering equations to be present for her childhood?
"It's complicated, honey. Mommy and I... we couldn't live together anymore. But that has nothing to do with you. I love you very much."
"Okay." Sarah didn't sound convinced.
When Tommy dropped her off, Linda could tell it hadn't gone well.
"Give it time," she said. "She needs to get used to you again."
"Again. As if I'm a stranger."
"You are a stranger to her, Tommy. That's the reality." Linda's voice wasn't unkind. Just honest. "You can fix it. But it'll take time and consistency. Can you do that?"
Tommy wanted to say yes. But they both knew his track record.
"I'll try," he said.
June 1975
The Skunk Works was everything Tommy had hoped for.
Small team. Cutting-edge problems. Engineers who lived and breathed aerospace. Kelly Johnson—though semi-retired—still occasionally showed up, a legend walking among them.
Tommy was assigned to the Have Blue flight testing preparation. But first: solving the fundamental physics problem that had plagued stealth research for years.
The problem was electromagnetic theory. Specifically: how radar waves interacted with aircraft surfaces.
Traditional aircraft design prioritized aerodynamics. Smooth curves. Streamlined shapes. Beautiful from an engineering perspective.
But terrible for stealth. Every curve created multiple radar reflection points. Every smooth surface acted like a mirror, bouncing radar energy back to the source.
The solution required thinking backward. Not smooth curves. Angular surfaces. Faceted geometry.
"It's based on Ufimtsev's work," Ben Rich explained during Tommy's first week. "Soviet physicist. Published a paper in 1962 on electromagnetic wave diffraction. Mostly ignored in Russia. But we found it."
Tommy had read Pyotr Ufimtsev's paper—translated from Russian by the Air Force. The mathematics were elegant. Each flat surface on an aircraft could be treated as an independent reflector. Calculate the reflection from each facet, sum them up, and you could predict total radar cross-section.
More facets meant more complexity. But also: more control. You could direct radar energy away from the receiver. Make an aircraft effectively invisible.
"The math works," Rich continued. "But we need someone to implement it. Turn theory into actual aircraft geometry. That's you."
Tommy dove in. Spent weeks with the equations. Scattering theory. Diffraction patterns. Reflection angles.
Used the Skunk Works' CDC 6600 computer—one of the most powerful in the world. Ran simulations. Tested thousands of configurations.
The work was beautiful. Pure physics. Pure mathematics. Elegant solutions to complex problems.
Tommy lost himself in it. Just like he'd lost himself in every project before.
His new colleagues were intense, focused, brilliant. Many of them were also divorced.
"Comes with the territory," one of them—Dave Miller—said over lunch. "This work demands everything. Not everyone can handle that."
"Your wife couldn't?"
"Ex-wife. She wanted a husband who was home for dinner. I wanted to change aviation history." Dave shrugged. "No right answer. Just choices."
Tommy thought about Linda. About Sarah. About the weekends that were getting slightly less awkward but still not comfortable.
"Do you regret it?" Tommy asked.
"Every day. And never." Dave looked at him. "That's the thing about big choices, Forsyth. You regret them and you don't, simultaneously. You just live with it."
August 1975
Tommy was working late when he made the breakthrough.
The CDC 6600 had just finished running his latest simulation. 10,000 facet configurations tested. Radar cross-sections calculated for each.
One configuration stood out. Angular, almost diamond-shaped. Looked like nothing that should fly.
But the numbers: radar cross-section of 0.01 square meters. For context, a conventional fighter had an RCS of 5-10 square meters.
This design would be 500 times harder to detect.
Tommy stared at the printout. Checked his calculations. Ran it again.
Same result.
He found Ben Rich. Showed him the numbers.
Rich studied them. "This is real?"
"The physics says it's real."
"Then let's build it."
October 1975
Tommy was reviewing test flight protocols when he noticed the name again.
Meridian Technical Systems. Supplying telemetry equipment for the Have Blue first flight.
Third time in eight years Tommy had seen that name. TriStar in 1967. Have Blue development in 1970. Now flight testing equipment.
He mentioned it to Dave Miller. "You ever work with Meridian Technical?"
"Don't think so. Why?"
"They keep showing up on different programs. Just wondering if anyone knows them."
Dave pulled up the contract database on his terminal—a DEC PDP-11 minicomputer, state of the art. Typed in "Meridian."
"Huh. They're on a lot of programs. Subcontractor for Hawkey, Boeing, Northrop. Components, testing equipment, support services." He scrolled through the amber CRT display. "Founded 1965. Small company. Always seems to underbid and win contracts."
"That's odd, right? If they're so competitive, how are they profitable?"
Dave shrugged. "Government accounting. Who knows. Maybe they're just good at cost control."
Tommy let it go. But the name stuck in his mind.
That night, alone in his apartment, he thought about the package that had arrived three years ago. From a London solicitor. His father's watch. A notebook. And a sealed envelope not to be opened until 1980.
Five more years.
Tommy had shoved it in his closet and forgotten about it. Didn't want reminders of Rick Forsyth and his paranoid theories.
But now... Meridian. The name his father had mentioned? Or had Tommy imagined that?
No. He was doing it again. Seeing patterns where there were none. Connecting dots that shouldn't be connected.
Meridian was just a contractor. Nothing more.
Tommy went to bed and tried not to think about it.
December 1975
Sarah's Christmas visit was better.
She was getting used to Tommy's apartment. Brought her toys. Talked more. Even laughed when Tommy tried to make pancakes and burned them.
"Daddy, you're bad at cooking," she said, giggling.
"I really am."
"Mommy's good at cooking. Maybe she can teach you."
"Maybe." Though Tommy knew that wasn't going to happen.
They spent the day playing games, watching TV, walking around the neighborhood. Simple things. But good.
On Christmas evening, they watched the news together. Talk about the upcoming Viking missions to Mars. Two spacecraft being prepared to search for life on another planet.
"Daddy, are there aliens on Mars?" Sarah asked.
"We don't know. That's why we're sending robots to look."
"That's so cool! Can we go there?"
"Not yet. Maybe when you're older. Maybe when you're grown up, people will visit Mars."
Sarah's eyes lit up. "I want to go to Mars!"
Tommy smiled. "Then study hard. Learn science and math. Maybe you will."
When Tommy dropped her off that evening, Linda noticed the change.
"She seems happier."
"I think we're getting there. Slowly."
"That's good." Linda paused. "Tommy, I know this is hard. But I'm glad you're trying. Sarah needs you. Even if it's just one weekend a month."
"I wish it could be more."
"So do I. But this is what we have. Make it count."
June 1976
Have Blue's prototype—officially designated "Vehicle 1"—was taking shape in the Skunk Works hangar.
Tommy stood looking at it. Two years of his calculations, his physics, his work. Embodied in this angular, faceted aircraft that looked like nothing ever built.
Fifty-six flat surfaces. Each one precisely angled to direct radar energy away from enemy receivers. The entire design dictated by Ufimtsev's electromagnetic equations.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ben Rich said beside him.
"It's terrifying. What if the physics is wrong?"
"Physics isn't wrong. Maxwell's equations have worked since 1865. Ufimtsev's math is solid. Your calculations are solid." Rich smiled. "But I understand the fear. Building something that's never been built before."
"It looks like it shouldn't fly."
"It looks like the radar cross-section of a ball bearing. That's what matters."
Tommy thought about the irony. Humanity's most advanced physics—electromagnetic theory, computational modeling, materials science—all dedicated to building better weapons.
The same year they were planning to send Vikings to Mars searching for life, they were building Have Blue to make killing more efficient.
Progress, he supposed. Just not the kind anyone talked about at dinner parties.