raises a hand, like a kid at the back of class. ‘Sorry, I know this is all nice and I hope I can remember everyone’s names eventually – only, does anyone have the slightest idea what we’re doing here ?’
‘Kid’s got a point,’ drawls Lida. ‘It can’t just be training for some half-assed Victory effort. Mossie’s never flown before, Yeldon neither.’
‘I’m a techie,’ objects Yeldon. ‘I could probably build you a People’s Number Nine Glissom Bomber with my eyes shut – doesn’t mean you’d catch me going up in one.’
‘I’m a techie too!’ cries Mossie.
Petra winks at her. ‘Bet you’re good,’ she mouths. Mossie actually blushes.
‘Right,’ says Lida, and we all turn to listen because she’s got this authority thing about her. ‘So we’ve all got something to do with aircraft, fine . That doesn’t explain why Aura’s picked us in particular to be here.’
Zoya says, ‘Everybody should just wait till we’re told why.’
I’m too conscious of the weed-that-sprouts-up-gets-yanked-out danger to say what’s leaping out at me, because we’ve definitely got at least one thing in common. We’re all young.
‘It’s obvious what’s going on,’ grunts Yeldon, cracking his knuckles. ‘We’re actually some super-skilled squad, headhunted for ultra-special duties.’
That makes us all laugh, it sounds so disconnected.
Petra passes mugs around. Lida leaps out of her chair and shouts at me when my mug drops to the floor, spilling hot liquid all over her arm on the way.
‘Hey – watch what you’re doing, Cadet girl!’
‘Sorry, I . . . I’m a bit clumsy.’
‘Great. That blows my theory of a super-skilled squad,’ says Yeldon sarcastically.
Zoya looks at me. She knows I’m not usually clumsy. She’ll probably put the spill down to nerves. In fact, I dropped the mug from shock. I looked down at the drink for a moment and inside the circle of the tea I saw a round vision of black birds flying across a red night sky, then thick, slick black rain falling like funeral tears.
Just an illusion. A trick of the light.
I tense. There are voices outside, mingling with the sound of the cold wind. The hut doors bang open. A man and a woman are blown inside. We automatically jump and stand in ranks, as we’ve been taught right from day one of infant school.
The man tries to brush snow from the woman’s uniform. She swats him away. Snowflakes are melting on her medals.
I am just about die and bury myself. I know this woman! I recognise that face! Who hasn’t seen her streamed on every screen in the Nation? Who’s not heard about the glory she’s reaped for Rodina? At my side Zoya is practically hyperventilating. Dee is the only one who manages to get words out.
‘That,’ she informs us starkly, ‘is none other than Marina Furey, the greatest pilot in the Nation. Ever.’
Marina Furey stamps her boots, shakes her hair and rips her gloves off. Finally she notices us all, united in awe.
Her face goes grey.
‘You have got to be kidding me. This is our next, best hope against the Crux?’ She scans our faces and stops at mine. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Aren’t you that refugee Lim girl who works in the canteen? Please – someone tell me I haven’t got a cook to train up!’
T he man with Marina Furey checks his keyboard then squints at me. He’s dressed in brown engineer overalls with a natty scarf knotted round his neck.
‘It’s not the cook,’ he says. ‘Looks a lot like her, but Haze, the Lim girl, is bigger. This one’s Rain Aranoza, a school student from Sea-Ways. Who knows, in another couple of years she might even grow tall enough to reach the plane controls.’
A couple of people snigger, I’m guessing Ang and Yeldon. If there was a tree-eaten rift handy I would gladly leap into it right at this moment. Fortunately, Marina Furey’s already forgotten I exist. She’s connecting, and she’s clearly one of those people who talks back to her
‘Kid’s got a point,’ drawls Lida. ‘It can’t just be training for some half-assed Victory effort. Mossie’s never flown before, Yeldon neither.’
‘I’m a techie,’ objects Yeldon. ‘I could probably build you a People’s Number Nine Glissom Bomber with my eyes shut – doesn’t mean you’d catch me going up in one.’
‘I’m a techie too!’ cries Mossie.
Petra winks at her. ‘Bet you’re good,’ she mouths. Mossie actually blushes.
‘Right,’ says Lida, and we all turn to listen because she’s got this authority thing about her. ‘So we’ve all got something to do with aircraft, fine . That doesn’t explain why Aura’s picked us in particular to be here.’
Zoya says, ‘Everybody should just wait till we’re told why.’
I’m too conscious of the weed-that-sprouts-up-gets-yanked-out danger to say what’s leaping out at me, because we’ve definitely got at least one thing in common. We’re all young.
‘It’s obvious what’s going on,’ grunts Yeldon, cracking his knuckles. ‘We’re actually some super-skilled squad, headhunted for ultra-special duties.’
That makes us all laugh, it sounds so disconnected.
Petra passes mugs around. Lida leaps out of her chair and shouts at me when my mug drops to the floor, spilling hot liquid all over her arm on the way.
‘Hey – watch what you’re doing, Cadet girl!’
‘Sorry, I . . . I’m a bit clumsy.’
‘Great. That blows my theory of a super-skilled squad,’ says Yeldon sarcastically.
Zoya looks at me. She knows I’m not usually clumsy. She’ll probably put the spill down to nerves. In fact, I dropped the mug from shock. I looked down at the drink for a moment and inside the circle of the tea I saw a round vision of black birds flying across a red night sky, then thick, slick black rain falling like funeral tears.
Just an illusion. A trick of the light.
I tense. There are voices outside, mingling with the sound of the cold wind. The hut doors bang open. A man and a woman are blown inside. We automatically jump and stand in ranks, as we’ve been taught right from day one of infant school.
The man tries to brush snow from the woman’s uniform. She swats him away. Snowflakes are melting on her medals.
I am just about die and bury myself. I know this woman! I recognise that face! Who hasn’t seen her streamed on every screen in the Nation? Who’s not heard about the glory she’s reaped for Rodina? At my side Zoya is practically hyperventilating. Dee is the only one who manages to get words out.
‘That,’ she informs us starkly, ‘is none other than Marina Furey, the greatest pilot in the Nation. Ever.’
Marina Furey stamps her boots, shakes her hair and rips her gloves off. Finally she notices us all, united in awe.
Her face goes grey.
‘You have got to be kidding me. This is our next, best hope against the Crux?’ She scans our faces and stops at mine. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Aren’t you that refugee Lim girl who works in the canteen? Please – someone tell me I haven’t got a cook to train up!’
T he man with Marina Furey checks his keyboard then squints at me. He’s dressed in brown engineer overalls with a natty scarf knotted round his neck.
‘It’s not the cook,’ he says. ‘Looks a lot like her, but Haze, the Lim girl, is bigger. This one’s Rain Aranoza, a school student from Sea-Ways. Who knows, in another couple of years she might even grow tall enough to reach the plane controls.’
A couple of people snigger, I’m guessing Ang and Yeldon. If there was a tree-eaten rift handy I would gladly leap into it right at this moment. Fortunately, Marina Furey’s already forgotten I exist. She’s connecting, and she’s clearly one of those people who talks back to her
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