Chapter 2 — Light Streaks Off The Runway

Vam Chan Airport has its own schedule, written in the sounds of generators, luggage carts and people calling each other through soundproof walls. When Tong opened the meeting at 7:30, the western cold storage had just finished shipping a batch of shrimp, the ferry terminal was rushing passengers to board early flights, and the ticket office had to explain to three people that the night flight had not yet sold tickets.

“Eleven more days is just an estimate,” Tong said, standing in front of the projection screen. "But if it cannot prove that the airport is ready, the airline will transfer resources to another airport. If Vam Chan loses night flights, frozen goods cannot make it in time, warehouse staff reduce shifts, motels lose customers, and the bus route eventually changes."

Nghi sat at the end of the table, incident report placed in front of him. She hasn't opened the photo of the junction box yet.

“I'm not against opening the line,” she said. “I object to calling the system ready when there is an unknown score.”

A person in charge of mining asked: “Does that point cause the light to go out?”

"Not yet."

“Are there any error signs?”

"Not yet."

“Have any planes crashed because of it?”

Nghi looked at him. "Not yet."

Tong raised his hand to stop. "We won't argue about things that haven't happened yet. The engineering team has forty-eight hours to check the W-3 circuit. During that time, the route opening schedule remains the same."

“I need three days,” Nghi said.

“You haven't checked the initial steps.”

"I know the circuit can be bright enough but the geometry is wrong. If you want to determine it, you have to measure from many locations, open the junction box, compare the cable map and run a test when the generator transfers load."

Tong looked at the calendar. “Forty-eight hours ago, what part could we have done?”

“Open box number 17 and measure the light distance.”

“Let's do it.”

The meeting ends with a task list. Nghi was paired with Uyen, Ho Boi Lan and Le Minh Kha. Lan is in charge of checking the yard area; Kha is in charge of apron communication and zone lock support; Uyen according to Nghi Hoc noted.

Kha arrived five minutes late, carrying two walkie-talkies and the face of someone who had just heard too many people calling him. “Who put me in the light circuit?”

“No one put me on the pulse,” Nghi replied. “I keep the entrance and report if there is a person or vehicle entering the inspection area.”

“That means standing outside and watching.”

“Standing outside in the right place is also one thing.”

Kha looked at Uyen and smiled faintly. “The apprentice gets to hold the toolbox, I get to hold the walkie-talkie.”

“A walkie-talkie can call more people than a toolbox,” Uyen replied.

Nghi did not laugh, but saw that Uyen knew how to keep her own place.

Ho Boi Lan arrived last, with a bunch of rolled-up paper maps in his hand. She placed it on the hood of the maintenance vehicle and asked Nghi if he wanted to see the map first or check the scene first.

“Scene first,” Nghi said.

"Good. Maps often make people look at the drawn line instead of the flow line."

They went out west. The sky was bright but the sea breeze blew the smell of salt through the short grasses. The runway is built on reclaimed land, on both sides are drainage ditches and the marker stakes are no longer aligned. Box number 17 is located some distance from the edge of the runway, under a black painted metal cover.

Nghi requested Kha to declare an area lockdown. Kha broadcast over the radio: "W-3 inspection area, no vehicles allowed to pass for ten minutes."

A truck carrying a container honked in the distance. Kha had to explain twice. The driver asked who would be responsible if there was a delay of ten minutes.

“I wrote your name on the area control report,” Kha replied. “Do you want to come over?”

The car stopped.

Uyen looked at Kha differently. Are not Not everyone needs to stand under the electrical cabinet to work properly.

Nghi opened the lid of the box. Inside are four connectors, a worn rubber gasket and a dried water stain in a ring around the bottom. Lan uses a stick to measure humidity, not touching the wire.

“The water comes in from the north,” she said.

“Based on what?”

Spread thin salt sugar on the side of the box. "There's more water left on this side. The ground on the other side is a little higher."

Nghi measures the distance from the box to the nearest light pole. On the maintenance drawing, gear box 17 is located between lights 17B and 17C. In the field, it is closer towards 17C. The error is not large, but enough for the cable to run around.

Uyen took the ruler and measured again. “Sister, this distance is thirty-eight centimeters different.”

“Record measurement points as well.”

“Maybe because they measured from the other edge of the road.”

“Don't explain the map instead.”

Lan took off her gloves and pointed to the ground next to the box. "This pile has been moved. The old paint is lower than the current paint."

Nghi knelt down. Indeed, under the white paint there was an old red line, running off toward the swamp.

Kha looked out at the runway. “If the box moves, will the light move with it?”

“The lamp body is empty,” Nghi said. “The cable connecting to the light can be pulled, and the junction box and measuring datum are no longer in the same position.”

“The board still shows the line.”

“The current doesn't know where the lamp is standing.”

Tong appeared at that moment with a woman wearing a gray aviation jacket. The woman introduced was Truong Dieu Han, representative of the airline that would operate the night route. Han did not ask who was in charge. She looked at the junction box, then looked at the row of lights from the car position.

“What do I see from here?” Han asked.

Nghi instructed Uyen to stand at the observation post. Uyen stood, then changed position as required. From Han's position, the last four lights are almost in a row.

Han walked another ten meters. “It's different here.”

“That's the point to check,” Nghi said.

Tong interjected: “But the plane is not seen from the ground.”

Han turned to him. “That's right. So I want to know what's there from the high angle.”

Before Nghi could speak, Han continued: "The airline does not want the opening flight to be canceled. But the pilot also did not accept a runway by promise. I need a report with landmarks, photos, conditions and the person responsible."

Tong looked at Nghi as if to remind her not to turn Han into an ally too soon.

“We will give the data,” Nghi replied.

Han nodded, then left with Tong.

Lan scrolled the map again. “She can talk.”

“She is also under pressure.”

“Who here doesn't agree?”

Nghi opened the technical box again. A streak of black paint ran through the number 17. She scraped off a small piece of the corner, revealing the letter “T” and an arrow line that had been covered.

Uyen looked. “Is it the old cable line?”

“Don't know yet.”

“You can take pictures.”

Nghi gave her the phone. Uyen took panoramic photos, close-ups, and then took photos with a measuring scale. This time her hands didn't shake.

When they returned to the engineering room, the control panel was still green. Nghi requires running each light level. All four end lights turn on, off, and back on again on command. No short circuit. No error reported.

Kha stood at the door and asked: "So what do we conclude?"

Nghi looked at the steady current, then looked at the photo of the junction box. “Today's conclusion is that we are not allowed to conclude yet.”

Uyen opened the paper map on the table. The map has a green cable line running straight, no curves, no deviations. Below the edge of the paper was an old seal half torn off.

Nghi turned over to the back.

A faint pencil line runs around the soft ground, ending right at box number 17.

Someone once knew this map was no longer correct.

Doubt to bring copies The items went into the photocopying room and were not given directly to Tong. She made two copies: one kept intact, one marked with transparent paper. Uyen was assigned to place field markers on the inner layer. She worked slowly, because every time she pulled the ruler across a colored line, she was afraid she would tear the old paper.

“Paper is not allowed to determine your speed,” Nghi said.

“But if you tear it, the evidence will be lost.”

“Then put on a protective plate.”

Uyen found a thin plastic sheet. The two did it again. When the clear layer covers the map, the blue cable runs off box number 17 like a rope mistakenly tied to another stake. The map doesn't say the box has been translated. It just shows that the person using it will look elsewhere.

Lan looked at the copy and pointed to the ditch area. “That year, new piles were placed on this side because construction vehicles could not access the subsidence side.”

“Is it written?” Nghi asked.

“I told the builder.”

“Did the builder write?”

Lan was silent. "Don't know."

Nghi added another sentence to the board: “Field experience has not been attached to identity and records.” Mrs. Le can later ask why such a question is necessary. But if not recorded, the person who built the stake will continue to be an untraceable face when the map is wrong.

Truong Dieu Han sent a text message confirming the company's agreement to support observation equipment, but requested that all images not be color-corrected. Uyen read and asked: "Are they afraid that I will make the photos look better?"

“Anyone who has data is afraid that others will only keep the beneficial part.”

“Does the airport have the right not to let the airline see it?”

"There are rights. But if we keep them all, it will be difficult for us to ask them to believe the results."

Tong heard it and said: "Data must have sharing rules, not everyone can take whatever they want."

Nghi replied: "Yes. The original is kept together, the working version has access rights, and all copies have the recipient recorded."

Tong nodded. He's starting to ask questions about records, not just calendars.

At the end of the afternoon, Nghi went with Kha to the west gate. Kha showed her the tire tracks that often ran to avoid ditches. A long-standing detour has become a main road, even though it is not on the internal traffic map.

“Maybe this line causes the foundation to compress differently,” Nghi said.

"Heavy vehicles go every night. People choose it because it's close to the warehouse."

“Have you reported yet?”

“I told the shift leader.”

“Is it written?”

Kha shook his head.

Nghi looked at him. “From today, when you say something, you have to write it down.”

Kha did not object. “If you write down everything, the book will be full.”

"Good. A notebook full of information is more useful than a clean notebook because no one dares to write."

Kha held the radio and called the vehicle team to temporarily avoid this way. The other person asked until when. Kha said "until there is a background check", not "until tomorrow".

In the afternoon, a transparent map is placed on the glass surface. The blue line, red line and actual line form three different directions. No direction claims to be the ultimate truth. Nghi labels the version, stating the creator and time.

Uyen asked: "Who do you think will be scolded?"

“Probably the first to discover it.”

"Why?"

“Because that person makes the problem impossible not to look at.”

Uyen put down her pen. “Then I will remember my name on the photo.”

Nghi nodded. Outside, the wind changed direction. The row of lights was dark, but box number 17 remained under the black paint, retaining a cable that the control panel had never known how to name.