The door to the corridor opened, and Marcus Thorne, the Lead Human Factors Instructor, stepped in. Thorne was a retired Navy psychologist who had spent fifteen years studying cockpit and cabin interpersonal dynamics. He held a digital clipboard and looked at Katherine with the dispassionate clinical detachment of a surgeon examining an x-ray.
"Trainee Vance," Thorne said, his voice level. "Simulator Bay C. Your cohort is waiting."
Katherine stiffened, pulling her shoulders back out of pure muscle memory. "Instructor Thorne, I must once again place on the record that my presence in this remedial track is subject to an active union grievance—"
"Your union representative signed off on your remedial syllabus yesterday at 0900 hours, Katherine," Thorne interrupted without looking up from his tablet. "If you refuse the module, your employment is terminated before noon under Section 8 of the Safety and Service Standards Act. Do you wish to proceed to Bay C, or do you require an escort to the parking gate?"
Katherine’s mouth snapped shut. Her jaw clicked with tension. She walked past him into the echoing corridor.
Simulator Bay C contained a full-scale, hydraulically mounted cabin section of a Boeing 777-300ER—the exact aircraft type Katherine had commanded across the Atlantic for over a decade. But the interior had been altered. The familiar, welcoming cabin was now rigged with high-definition observation cameras, directional microphones, and two-way observation mirrors along the overhead racks.
Inside the cabin sat twelve trainees. They were not senior pursers. They were twenty-two-year-old regional transfers, newly hired bilingual recruits, and mid-career flight attendants undergoing routine recurrent checks.
"Take seat 2A, Katherine," Instructor Thorne announced through the cabin PA system as he climbed into the elevated observation booth behind the two-way glass.
Katherine stepped into the first-class suite. It was the exact suite Arthur Pendelton had occupied.
"Simulation parameters," Thorne’s voice boomed over the speakers, cold and resonant. "Flight 402, transpacific. Duration: twelve hours. Trainee Vance, you are not the purser. You are the passenger. You are a seventy-one-year-old retired schoolteacher traveling on a legacy mileage ticket to visit a dying relative. You have not slept in twenty-four hours. Your clothes are rumpled. You suffer from mild arthritis, and your hearing in your left ear is partially impaired."
Katherine sat down on the leather seat. The leather felt the same, but the psychological space was unrecognizable. She felt exposed, pinned beneath the lenses of the ceiling cameras.
"Trainee Rodriguez," Thorne instructed over the radio. "Initiate Scenario Four-Alpha."
A young flight attendant, barely twenty-four years old, stepped into the aisle from the galley. Her face was set in a cold, rigid mask of calculated disdain—a performance Katherine recognized with a sudden, sickening jolt of familiarity. It was the exact expression Katherine had worn for thirty years when dealing with passengers she deemed unworthy of her cabin.
Rodriguez approached Suite 2A. She stood over Katherine, utilizing height and posture to establish immediate, crushing physical dominance.
"Excuse me," Katherine said, attempting to play the role, her voice sounding thin and unnatural. "Could I... could I please have a glass of water to take my medication?"
Rodriguez did not lean down. She did not make eye contact. She looked over Katherine’s head, her voice dropping into a razor-thin, patronizing cadence.
"The boarding process is currently underway. We do not offer intermediate beverage services during ground operations for secondary ticket holders. You will wait until the main meal service commences after top of climb."
"I need to take my heart medication," Katherine said, her real frustration bleeding into the exercise. "It’s only a small glass of water—"
"Ma'am," Rodriguez interrupted, her tone sharp, publicly audible, cutting through the cabin like a whip. "If you are medically unfit to travel without disrupting standard departure procedures, I can have the gate agent re-enter the jet bridge and offload you right now. Do you wish to travel today, or do you wish to be removed?"
Katherine froze. The words hit her with the physical impact of a slap. She looked around the cabin; the other trainees in the adjacent seats were looking at her—some with nervous curiosity, others with visible discomfort. The sheer, naked humiliation of being spoken to like an inconvenient animal in a public space washed over her in an instantaneous, suffocating wave.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. The feeling of absolute, helpless vulnerability was intoxicatingly toxic. In that seat, stripped of her silver wings, her tailored suit, and her authority, she had no voice. She had no recourse. She was entirely at the mercy of a stranger wearing a uniform.