Night Witches (7 page)

Q
uite a crowd turns out to watch the first actual flight of a Storm. They want to see what bizarre experiment has earned the great Marina Furey’s time and expertise. Aura sends a message rippling with reassurance –
victory is near! be calm and confident!

‘I wish our new uniforms weren’t one-size-fits-nobody,’ Zoya complains as we stand by the hangar at dawn, watching Planet Umbra slowly sink below the horizon. ‘At least everyone in our squadron has to wear them, so we all look awful together. I can’t believe I got issued boots for two left feet! The only reason they don’t pinch is because they’re two sizes too big.’

‘You sound like Ang Two-Times!’ I tease. ‘Did you stuff them with spare socks, like Petra suggested? You’re lucky you haven’t had to roll your trousers up a million times just to see your own feet, like me.’

The test plane is wheeled from the hangar out to the runway. Its wood glows a warm, dawn orange, while the metal parts sparkle. Some of the crowd sneer with contempt. I don’t blame them. The Storm looks very small and silly compared to real bioweave bombers.

Ang glares at me and taunts, ‘Time for your moment of glory, Pip. Everyone’s been asking why
you
get picked to fly first, when some of us have tons more flying experience. I suppose it’s because you’re more disposable.’

Zoya bristles, but I hold her back.

‘Don’t you want to
kill
that girl?’ she hisses. ‘Everyone else does. She nabbed the best bunk in the dorm, she drapes herself over Yeldon like he’s a coat hanger and did you hear her when you last went in the flight simulator,
Oh, but I’ve had to wait twice as long as everyone else for a turn
? You can’t help it if Aura’s got you doing extra sessions in the sim. I just wish I knew why . . .’

‘Hey, Pip, there’s your boyfriend . . .’ calls Lida.

I squint into the rising sun to where Steen Verdessica is a kneeling silhouette, praying to the light of the rising sun. Reef is, as ever, close by as guard. He smiles, subtly, when he sees me. My heart sings and suddenly the sun does seem worth celebrating.

Reef messaged me just once that first day in the hangar, as we were leaving to be shown dorms and things. I’d connected to Aura for updates and instead got a bloom of white flowers unfurling into my mind, the colour of the Morass in winter and the shape of wild snow roses. They were tagged with a message –
found you
.

Lida folds her arms – usually a sign that trouble is brewing.

‘Why has that Crux pilot got a thing for you, Pipsqueak? I saw how he squashes up close in the flight simulator. Mates, are you? Maybe sweet on each other? Lovers?’

Does she have any idea how much I
hate
it when Steen presses against me in the sim, or the way he slides his arm round me to point out some detail on the control panel?

‘Everybody knows Pip hates Steen!’ sparks Zoya quickly. ‘She’s loyal to Rodina –
One of Many
.’

‘
One of Many
,’ we all echo.

Lida flushes. ‘Are you calling
me
disloyal to the Nation, because if you are . . .’

‘You’re disconnected!’

‘No, this whole setup is disconnected!
Yash
planes, a Crux instructor, Cadets for crew, no Aura and
night-flying
! It stinks.’

‘Not as much as your moaning,’ says Ang, wading into the quarrel.

‘I’m not moaning, I’m just saying, don’t you think—’

‘I don’t think,’ pipes up Dee. ‘That’s what Aura’s for. If Aura says I need to fly that wooden plane thing for Rodina
,
that’s what I’ll do and that’s what Rain’s doing. Right, Rain?’

I nod and Zoya nods too. Thank goodness I’ve got her as my ally.

Lida leans in. ‘OK, Pip, but you still haven’t explained why the Crux singled you out from all of us.’

Zoya flares up again. ‘She doesn’t know and she doesn’t like it any more than you do.’

‘Can’t she speak for herself, Zoya, or does her big cousin always have to look out for her?’

Mossie throws her hands in the air. ‘Girls, girls! Untwist your knickers. We’re supposed to be working together, not against each other. Lighten up – here’s Furey.’

Still fastening her uniform buttons, Marina Furey walks over to Steen and whistles for him to get up.

‘Wearing your knees out in prayer, Crux? Anyone think to point out to you that the sun’s just a ball of hot plasma interwoven with magnetic fields?’

‘Prayer to the Light Bringer is calming,’ Steen replies, without his usual sneer.

‘We civilised people prefer to connect.’

‘Yes, perhaps that is a kind of religion to you, giving blind obedience to the hub of collected information you call Aura. How much happier you’d be if you let us convert you all to the light.’

‘
Conversion?
Is that what you’re calling your invasion? Five more towns were bombed in West Rodina yesterday – thousands of casualties. Stray missiles landed on Sorrowdale. How can you live with all these deaths on your conscience, Crux?’

There are rumours, just whispers here and there when Scrutiners aren’t listening, that Crux are sacrificing babies on god-altars. That they blind all captured soldiers and civilians. That we may not even win Victory before Long Night.

Steen’s angry now and about to spout off some self-righteous lies about the war being started because of Rodina’s persecution of religious believers. I’ve heard it all before, during our tutorials in the sim. Thankfully Reef gives him a shove in the back and says, ‘Time to get to work.’

Steen rises to his feet in one fluid movement, like a dancer, but more dangerous. I shudder as he passes me, certain I hear him say, ‘You live in lies and shadow. You should set yourself free . . .’

‘I don’t like this setup,’ Fenlon growls from somewhere under the fuselage of the Storm. ‘How do we know we can trust this Crux in a plane? What’s to stop him going straight over the border back to his own kind?’

Reef’s eyes narrow. ‘There are a hundred captured Crux soldiers being kept hostage who’ll be shot if Steen fails to collaborate. Aura’s ac-reqs are clear – Rain Aranoza flies under his instruction, end of story.’

Furey agrees. ‘There’s too much at stake to argue. If Aura’s calculated the Storms are necessary for Victory then we have to have them in combat soon. What is it now, Fenlon?’

Fenlon crawls out from under the plane, holding something in a fuel-stained hand. ‘Found this tied to one of the landing struts. Anything to do with you, Aranoza?’

He thrusts a strange twist of coloured threads at me, all knotted in intricate patterns. I step back from it quickly and shake my head.

‘Looks Lim-ish,’ says Furey. ‘Folk in Sorrowdale used to pin them on trees sometimes – can’t remember why. Actually, it’s like that braided belt the canteen cook wears, that Lim girl, Haze. Is it some sort of Old Nation good-luck charm, maybe?’

Good luck? More like a
bad
-luck charm. Just looking at it makes me feel uneasy, like I’m trapped inside too-tight skin. It can’t be coincidence that Haze has a job here on the airbase, can it? I haven’t seen her face to face yet. Everyone says she’s the best cook ever, but the first time we ate in the canteen Zoya shovelled her soup in while I had to push my bowl away, because it tasted funny.

‘Tastes fine to me,’ Zoya said. ‘Everybody else likes it. Don’t you want yours?’

I let her gulp it down. It was only bioveg and herbs – but the herbs were horribly bitter. I actually felt sick just from the smell. My canteen tea was the same. Mossie asked
are you OK, you look pale?
Petra said I should go to the medic. I just gripped the edge of the table and said I was fine, absolutely fine. When I finally let go of the table it looked as if I’d dented the bioweave, which is impossible, of course. Once bioweave is set it won’t change shape until regeneration. Since then I’ve taken to making my own tea in the crew-room and living off vending-machine snacks.

Now, seeing the knotted charm, I finally remember the second of Pedla’s rules for staying safe in the forest –
Be very careful what you eat
.

All three rules run through my head.

Be very careful who you meet, be very careful what you eat and don’t step off the path . . .

No matter how intense training has been, with marching, sports, tests and sim exercises, the Morass is never far from my thoughts. In the dorm, listening to Ang’s hefty snores and the little whimpers Zoya makes as she dreams, I also imagine I hear the sounds of corvils calling and, once, beyond the frost-flowers scratched on each pane of the dorm window, I thought I saw a flash of silver as a wolf ran past.

Out on the airstrip Fenlon shakes his head. ‘We can’t have civilians tampering with the plane. Here – this is Scrutiner business.’

‘Let me see.’ Reef’s right at my side. I feel him come close without even needing to see him there. He smells nice. Clean. Warm. He examines the braid then tucks it securely in a pocket. No one dares ask what he thinks of it.

Furey turns to me. ‘Ready to go, Aranoza?’

‘Mm.’

I look over at the rest of the squadron. There’s Yeldon, stretching his muscles out; Henke tapping a tune against the side of his leg. Mossie’s still rubbing sleep from her eyes and Petra’s cramming a cap on her sticking-up hair. The two of them stand really close together, fingers brushing when they think no one’s looking. Dee just blinks and tries to keep her fringe straight in the morning breeze. She’s lost her cap and hasn’t yet figured out that Lida threw it up on the hangar roof after a bet with Ang (who said she could throw it twice as far, but actually couldn’t). Ang frowns at me with envy. Zoya waves. Most of the crowd just stare, sceptical that the Storm will even get off the ground.

A lump of anxiety bulges in my throat. Mama always said I should never put myself forward. Papi knows I’m not good at anything. What if I let everyone down today? Why does it have to be
me
singled out, like that weed that sprouts and needs yanking up?

‘Don’t worry,’ Furey reassures. ‘Our charming Crux instructor here can pilot via the dual controls if you get into difficulties, which I doubt you will. I’ve no idea why he specified you to pilot the test flight, but you’re a natural on the simulator. Stop looking so scared! It’ll be an adventure. If it was me, I’d be up there like a shot.’

‘I’ve made this for you,’ says Zoya just before I leave. ‘It’s a scarf, because you’ll freeze in that open cockpit. Haze in the canteen’s been teaching me how to knit like Lim people do. I’ll ask her to show you too, if you like? Why not? You might be good at it.’

Why not? Because there’s something about the pattern of coloured threads that makes my eyes feel funny, that’s why. I say
thank you
and take it anyway, but as soon as she’s not looking I pass the yarn scarf to Mossie and ask her to keep it safe for me.

‘Are you coming?’ Steen asks, holding out a hand for me to climb on the wing of the Storm with him.

‘Keep your distance, Crux,’ comes Reef’s warning, dark and low. ‘And keep your mind on what will happen if you try anything abnormal up there.’

Reef offers me a hand up instead. I’m in flying gloves, so no danger of touching his skin and getting a vision, much as I’d like to hold his naked hand. His words to me are neutral – ‘Safe skies, Aranoza’ – but he gives my hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

Steen drops into the back seat of the Storm while I scramble into the front. Zoya throws up the pad I need to raise the seat high enough so I can see out of the cockpit. I also have to have blocks on the foot pedals. Embarrassing but true – I’m just too titchy. I test the clumsy controls. Will simulator training be any use at all in this
flying coffin
, as Fenlon calls it?

‘Good luck, Pip!’ Zoya calls. ‘Everybody says you can do it! If it works we can all fly Storms and win the war!’

No pressure then.

Just like my sessions in the sim I press the top of the control stick to release fuel to the Storm’s engine, which goes from a grumble to a roar. So far so good. Fenlon heaves the propeller into motion. The whole plane starts to shake. I tense at the change in vibration and the following rush-back of air into the open cockpit.

‘Are you ready for this?’ Steen shouts from the seat behind.

I look over to Fenlon. His face is grey, like I’m dead already.

‘Are you?’ I shout back to Steen.

Fenlon scoots to a safe distance. Chocks are pulled away from the wheels and we start to roll forward. We pick up speed . . . lift off the ground . . . wheels bump once, higher now – we’re off . . . We’re actually airborne! This crazy contraption works!

What an amazing sensation, to be rising up like the morning sun, with light on our faces and lungs full of fresh, cold air! This could not be more different from my last flight – cooped in the noiseless aircon atmosphere of a closed cockpit in the People’s Number Fifty-nine Tutor Plane. I climb higher, aware that Steen has hold of the dual controls, with a corrective touch here and there. I don’t need his interference. Flying this plane isn’t so difficult once I let myself feel how it responds. I like it. I love being open to the sky. Soon my friends are little specks and the sky is a glorious invitation.