Earth and Fire (8 page)

My lookup chimed
with an incoming message that made me forget all about Cathan. My training
licence had been processed, and I had my official pilot’s identity code!

Next day, I spent my lunch break talking
Keon into getting the door access code. I played safe by claiming it was for me
rather than Cathan, but of course Keon still made a huge fuss about the effort
involved.

When Keon
finally gave in, I sent him the door location, and was startled when he laughed
and sent me the access code within two minutes. Apparently, getting me the door
code for Europe Off-world had been horrendously difficult because they had top
level security to protect the interstellar portals, but this door code was for
some unimportant public building.

That confused me
a bit, because I couldn’t imagine why Cathan would want to sneak into some
random public building, but I sent him the access code at the end of the school
day and then forgot all about it as I headed to New York Fringe. Less than an
hour later, I was in one of their changing rooms, struggling into another tight-fitting
impact suit. I’d picked out the best of the half-a-dozen standard black suits they
had in my size, but it still had the typical musty smell of a suit that had
been worn a lot.

I finished
smoothing the fabric down my arms, pulled up the hood, and sealed the front of
my suit so it would run its automatic self test sequence. The musty smell was a
lot stronger now I was inside. The test sequence ran through successfully, so
the air system was in perfect working order. According to the experts, that
meant it was totally impossible for there to be any noticeable smell. Either my
nose or the experts were wrong, and I knew which one I believed.

I set the front and
back of my suit to display my name, then headed for the landing area. Gradin
was already there, standing next to his survey plane. He had the hood of his fancy
official pilot’s impact suit up and the front sealed, so I couldn’t see the
expression on his face, but he was tapping one foot impatiently.

“Reception
called me to say you’d arrived ages ago, Jarra. I don’t expect you to suit up
in the Military standard time of two minutes, or even match the three minutes
it takes me, but maybe you could try and manage it in less than half an hour
next time.”

“I had to wait
while my suit requisition request was submitted and authorized,” I said. “Actually
putting on the suit only took five minutes.”

He made a
snorting sound. “That’s still ridiculously slow.”

I bit my lip to
stop myself making an angry reply. My history teacher always said it was more
important to put a suit on properly than quickly, because if the special
protective fabric was unevenly spread it could be hideously uncomfortable, but
I’d have to make sure I learnt to suit up faster. Not just as fast as Gradin,
but as fast as a Military pilot.

We both put on hover
tunics and climbed into the plane, then Gradin entered his pilot code into the
control panel and nodded to me. I entered my own pilot code for the first time
ever, and was thrilled to watch the plane control system interact with the
Earth data net, displaying my name and training status as it accepted me as
co-pilot.

Gradin tapped
his suit comms control and spoke on the broadcast channel that would be heard
by everyone working on New York Fringe Dig Site. “This is New York survey plane.
Requesting clearance to launch.”

“This is Fringe
Dig Site Command,” responded a voice. “New York survey plane, you are clear to
launch.”

“This is New
York survey plane,” said Gradin. “Pilot handing control to co-pilot for launch.”

Chaos take it, I’d
expected Gradin to give me control of the plane in midair, not throw me
straight into handling a take-off! What did I do now? Admit I’d deliberately
exaggerated my flying experience to him. Confess that I’d only ever done a
handful of take-offs and landings, and those were over a year ago?

I hesitated for
a moment. Gradin had followed flight protocols by informing Dig Site Command
that I had control of the plane. If I said I couldn’t do this, he’d have to
tell Dig Site Command he was keeping control after all, and he’d probably add
something sarcastic about me being clueless or scared. Hundreds of amateur
archaeologists working on New York Fringe would hear those words on broadcast
channel and laugh at me.

All right.
Gradin wanted me to do the take-off, so I’d do the nuking take-off! I took a
deep breath, hit the unlock switch for the co-pilot controls, and set my suit
comms to speak on broadcast channel.

“This is New
York survey plane co-pilot, Jarra Reeath. I have control.”

I heard a
different hum on my suit comms, which meant Gradin had opened a private channel
with me. I set my comms to speak on the private channel as well. We hardly
needed it now, because I could hear him perfectly well sitting next to me, but
it would be a help when our aircraft thrusters were on high.

“I’m keeping
pilot controls active,” said Gradin. “Those can override yours if necessary.”

Despite his
critical tone of voice, I found that reassuring and calmed down a little. I
used the hovers to lift the survey plane into the air, and slowly turned it
ready for take-off.

“I’m already over
sixty,” said Gradin. “Do you think we can get in the air before I reach my
hundredth and die of old age?”

I tensed again,
hit the thrusters hard, and pulled back on the stick. We shot forward, and I
heard Gradin gasp as we soared steeply up into the air.

“Unnecessarily
spectacular,” he said. “You’re even more heavy-handed on the thrusters than I
remembered.”

I giggled with
relief that the take-off was over. “You wanted me to hurry up.”

I banked the
plane and circled, still gaining altitude. Most of my previous flying had been
on survey flights, where you needed to stay low so the sensors could record as
much detail as possible, but this time I could go as high as I liked. I kept
flying wide circles, joyously increasing height all the time, until we were well
above the single small cloud in the sky.

“Exactly how
high are you planning to go?” asked Gradin.

“All the way to
Adonis. Hoo eee!” I yelled.

“There’s no need
to deafen me, and I strongly suggest you pay more attention to your control
panel. Your altitude is approaching red zone, and this type of survey plane doesn’t
have its own air system. If we go any higher we’ll need to fit oxygen booster
cells to our impact suits, which seems an unnecessary amount of trouble for a
flight like this.”

I glanced at my
control panel, saw the flashing warning message about my altitude, and levelled
off the plane. “Sorry.”

“All right, I’ve
seen enough to start planning your summer training schedule. Let’s land now.”

I obediently banked
left and eased off on the thrusters, letting the plane gradually lose height as
I flew over New York Fringe Dig Site. My attention had been on the sky before,
but now I was looking down at trees and fire-blackened ruins. Over to my right,
the ruins were taller, and the trees more sparse. I could see the skeletal
outlines of the ancient skyscrapers of New York Main Dig Site in the far
distance.

I made another
turn, so New York Main was behind me, and looked for the distinctive cluster of
domes that were New York Fringe Command Centre. They should be straight ahead
of me, but I couldn’t see them. I was disconcerted, panicked for a second like
a nardle, then saw the huddle of grey domes were further to my left than I’d
expected.

I side-slipped
off a bit more height, corrected my course, and started my approach run to the
landing area. I judged that exactly right, coming in low and ideally positioned
to land, so I just had to slow to stalling point and I was ready to make the final
transition from thrusters to hovers. That transition phase is the trickiest bit
of any landing, so I held my breath as the plane gently sank down on to the
ground, then gave a long sigh of relief as I hit the control to shut down
hovers.

As I did that, the
plane tilted sideways, and I heard a sickening crunch followed by a scraping
sound. I didn’t understand what was happening. The hovers were off, they were
definitely off, but the plane was still moving. Gradin’s hand slammed down on a
switch, the plane stopped, and there was a moment of silent suspense before he
spoke.

“You nuking
idiot! You total nuking idiot! You crashed my plane!”

I still didn’t know what had gone
wrong, but I did know I wanted to die. I wanted to sink through the floor of
the plane I’d just wrecked, and the ground below it, heading on downwards until
I hit the magma layer and died a merciful death.

Gradin was still
ranting at me. “How can anyone make a flawless landing and
then
crash
the plane?”

The contempt in
his voice prodded me into movement. I fumbled blindly for the cockpit release,
climbed out of the plane, yanked off my hover tunic, and threw it back inside.
I wanted to run straight for the nearest portal and get out of here, but I’d
already smashed up a plane and I couldn’t steal an impact suit as well. I
headed for the misty shape of the nearby dome, and groped my way through a
door, then along a corridor to the changing room where I’d left my clothes.

“How stupid do
you have to be to cut hovers while the thrusters are still active on minimum?”

Gradin’s voice
followed me, shouting at me through the suit comms system. I was too numb with
shock to think of turning off the comms, so the tirade only stopped when I took
off my suit. I dragged my clothes on, returned the suit to the correct rack in the
store room, then headed for the portals in the reception area. The woman behind
the desk said something to me as I went by, but I didn’t turn my head to look
at her, just dialled America Transit 1 and stepped through the portal.

About five
seconds after I arrived in the Transit, I heard a soft chime. I reached for my
lookup and glanced at it, but the display was blurred and unreadable. I blinked
the tears out of my eyes and it abruptly came into focus. Gradin was calling me!

I hesitated, rubbed
the back of my hand across my face, and answered the call, speaking in a rush
before he could throw any more insults at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll never set foot
in a plane again.”

He started to say
something, but I ended the call and walked on towards the inter-continental
portals. My lookup gave another chime and I saw it was Gradin calling me again.
Nuke him! I’d told him I’d never set foot in a plane again, what more did he
want?

I rejected the
call, glanced at the overhead signs, and went to join the queue of people for an
inter-continental portal that was locked open to Europe. As the queue shuffled
forward, my lookup wailed for attention yet again, this time with the louder
sound of an emergency call. I could see people turning to stare at me. Why
couldn’t Gradin leave me alone?

I rejected the
emergency call, set my lookup to automatically block any future calls from
Gradin, and was left in peace as I walked through the portal. The signs told me
I was in Europe Transit 4 now, and I headed for the local portals. I was dialling
the code for my Next Step, when my lookup made a squawking noise I’d never
heard before, and flashed up a holo of a man in uniform. I gaped at him, open-mouthed.

“Jarra Reeath,”
he said. “We’ve had a report stating you’re rejecting emergency calls, and registering
concern for your welfare.”

Pure anger
helped me pull myself together and speak in an icily calm voice. “If you check
my travel record, you’ll see I’ve just been through several portals in rapid
succession so emergency calls may have failed to reach me. If whoever called
you had any sense they’d have realized I was portalling, waited a few minutes,
and tried again before bothering you.”

The man seemed
to glance down at something. “Your travel record confirms recent portal
transfers. I apologize for disturbing you.”

My lookup screen
went blank, and I went over to a quiet corner and called Gradin. The second he
answered, I screamed at him. “How dare you set the police on me?”

He laughed. “How
dare you crash my plane and run away without making a statement for my accident
report?”

“You told them
you were concerned for my welfare! You could have got me sent to Correctional
for psychological treatment!”

He shrugged. “I’m
sorry, but I was genuinely worried you might do something drastic. I saw the
surveillance vid of you going through reception, and the look on your face …
I’m not a nice man, Jarra, but I’m not actively evil. I instinctively yelled at
you when you crashed my plane, but I wasn’t trying to destroy you.”

My head started replaying
the humiliating moment when I crashed the plane. The crunch, the scraping
sound, the … I fought off the ghastly memory, and took refuge in my anger at
Gradin contacting the police. Being angry was good. Being angry blocked the
pain. Being angry kept my voice from shaking.

“You’ve spoken
to me now, so you know I’m fine. If you need me to make a statement about what
happened during the crash, I’ll do it. I’ve already said I’ll never set foot in
a plane again. Are we done now?”

He gave me an
annoying grin. “No, we aren’t done. You’re coming back tomorrow to practise
take-offs and landings.”

“What?”

“I said that
you’re coming back tomorrow to practise take-offs and landings.”

“What?” I
repeated the word again like a complete nardle. My ears obviously weren’t
working properly because he couldn’t have said that.

Gradin sighed
and spoke one word at a time. “Tomorrow. Take-offs. Landings. Please, don’t gawp
at me and say ‘what’ again, because we could keep this up for hours.”

“No. I’m not
flying again. Ever.”

“Yes, you are. You’re
flying again tomorrow. Aren’t you listening to me?”

I ran my fingers
through my hair. “You’re the one who isn’t listening. Everyone says you can
tell everything about a pilot from their landings, and I’ve proved I’m utterly
dreadful. I’ve given up.”

“Do you always
overreact like this every time you mess something up?”

I thought about my
science teacher, imagining what she’d say if she found out I’d crashed a plane.
An off-world comedian could make up a whole vid series of jokes about a dumb
ape crashing a plane.

“I’m not
overreacting. If I can’t do something well, then I don’t do it at all.”

Gradin shook his
head. “Being a perfectionist can be good, but you’re taking it too far. If you
give up and run away every time you make a mistake, you’ll never do anything
with your life.”

“What I do with my
life is my business, not yours.”

“When what you
do is crash my plane, you make it my business. Get back here tomorrow. Same
time.”

“But you didn’t
want to teach me to fly even before …” I broke off the sentence to avoid saying
the words.

“No, I didn’t,
but
I
don’t run away from things. When I start something, I finish it,
and …” Gradin pulled a face. “I may have seemed angry with you back there, but the
truth is I was really mad at myself. I had pilot controls active, so I could
have overridden you at any second. Your take-off was a bit enthusiastic but
otherwise fine. Your only problem in midair was when you lost your bearings for
a moment. A typical novice pilot error. You were forgetting your control panel
and using your eyes, and everything looks different from the air.”

Gradin had
noticed the moment when I couldn’t see the New York Fringe Command Centre domes.
What had given that away? He couldn’t have seen my face because it was hidden
inside my suit hood.

“Your landing
approach was well judged,” continued Gradin, “and the transition to hovers went
smoothly, so I got sloppy and didn’t pay attention to your shut down sequence.
If I had, I’d have seen you’d left the thrusters on minimum and shut them down
myself.”

“It was my
mistake.”

“It was
our
mistake,” said Gradin. “You forgot your landing checklist, which was stupid. I
failed to give adequate supervision to an inexperienced pupil, which was
criminally negligent. I’m not running away from my mistake, and I’m not letting
you run away from yours either.”

“But we can’t
fly tomorrow. The plane is damaged.”

He laughed. “It
sounded far worse than it actually was. Planes are designed to survive much
more than just scraping along the ground on minimum thrusters, so there’s nothing
but a few scratches on the right wing tip stabilizer and the main body. If
Fringe Dig Site Command decides it needs a new coat of paint before it’s fit to
be seen in public, we’ll fly one of my other planes instead. Tomorrow. Same
time.”

I opened my
mouth to argue, but the holo of Gradin had vanished. He’d ended the call.

I stared down at
my blank lookup. Gradin was offering me a second chance at my dream of being a
pilot, but how could I go back to New York Fringe after what had just happened?
It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d stayed in the plane and endured Gradin
yelling at me on the private channel that no one else could hear, but I’d made a
complete and utter fool of myself by running off. Everyone in reception had
seen me stumbling to the portal in tears. If Gradin had watched that scene on
the surveillance vid, then all the staff at Fringe Dig Site Command had
probably seen it too.

I couldn’t go back
there after that. I couldn’t face them laughing at me, and there was no point
anyway. I’d only do something stupid again and prove I really was a dumb throwback.

But if I didn’t
go back, I’d never get into a plane again. Never know the joy of escaping the
ground. Never have that crazy feeling that I could fly forever and reach the
stars.