Part 15 (1/2)

*You sound tired,' answers Zoya crossly.

*Sorry. You're a fantastic shot, everyone says so. The best thing Fenlon ever did was fit Glissom guns for the navigators.'

*Yeah, being stuck just map-reading was too boring. I bet it was your mama and papi who made the gun at Glissom's factory. Seriously, Pip, you look wiped. My father messaged me asking if you were OK. I said yes, but are you? Haze said you've not been yourself lately.'

*Haze doesn't know what she's talking about!' I snap, heaving myself out of the Storm.

Zoya jumps to the ground after me. *Don't be so down on Haze all the time. She's just worried about you. You would tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn't you? You know you can tell me anything, don't you, Pip?'

*Absolutely. I'm just . . . tired. You know.'

She does know. We'll be far too wired to sleep properly this morning, no matter how many downers we take.

As usual, Steen Verdessica is out praying in a neglected corner of the Biopolis. He goes topless in the heat a” pure arrogance. It's so tempting to go over there and . . . and do something violent, I'm not sure what. He turns and raises his hand to me.

Calm, calm calm. I must stay calm.

Somewhere on the edge of my mind I hear Zoya saying, *Your hair's a complete mess, Pip. You should let me at it a” brush some of those tangles out. Didn't you hear there'll be an inspection from someone senior soon? You don't want them to see you looking such a wreck. When we get back to the dorm, hand your hairbrush over . . .'

Out comes Marina Furey, tapping a choke against her trouser leg because even she isn't eccentric enough to smoke around the flammable fuel of the Storms.

*Welcome back,' she calls to all the crews as one by one they taxi home for the day. She frowns and starts to count. *One Storm short a” who's missing?'

*Lida was right behind us,' says Zoya. *I saw her last over the Rimm railway sidings, about three klicks from here. Enemy fire was pretty heavy but she was airborne last I looked.'

*She should be back by now,' says Mossie, covering her eyes against the sun to see if a Storm is near. There's no sign of anything except a few early-rising clouds. I glance at Zoya. She mirrors my worried expression. Where are Lida and Petra? This is not good.

Furey connects, then shouts at the response.

*No information available? Status updating a” please wait? What sort of yash response is that?'

Now the choke is behind her ear and she's got her arms folded as she paces the edge of the airstrip, which still stinks from the latest spraying of Slick. I'm secretly glad there isn't enough to get all the weeds around the factory. The thorn-vine blooms are brilliant to see a” so vibrant and alive.

All eyes turn to the sky. *Come on, come on,' Furey murmurs. *I've lost three crews; I will not lose another.'

We've been incredibly lucky to have no casualties apart from Henke and Rill, the mid-air collision victims and one poor guy who got cut from the squadron because he started losing his night-vision.

*I see Lida's Storm!' My eyes are sharpest. *There, coming in above the seventh tower. They're low. Too low.'

*Are they OK?' squeaks Mossie.

*I've got them,' cries Furey. *Definitely too low. Pull up, you idiots. Get some height!'

Too late. The Storm sc.r.a.pes along the rim of the bio-tower.

*There's damage to the tail and the left wing,' I call out. *She'll be lucky to keep it under control a” the angle's awful for a landing.'

*Don't say that!' Mossie's face is horribly pale.

Calm calm calm . . .

Furey's already messaging for support and we hear the ominous sound of an emergency siren. The Storm trails black smoke. They must've been hit back near the target and I never noticed. Nose up, I tell Lida silently, wis.h.i.+ng I could message her. No no no, bank more to the right, keep your wings as level as you can. That's right, nose up a” not that far up! You can't land on your tail!

*They'll never do it,' Zoya murmurs.

*They have to do it,' says Furey emphatically.

Juddering wildly, the Storm touches down, jerks up, tips sideways and comes right off the runway, scattering ground crew and sand canisters, hurtling towards the wall of a nearby factory building, trailing flames in its wake.

I run. I'm there. I don't think about it, I just fling myself in front of the plane. They can't die!

Who knows what happens next. Some twist of the controls? Some flip of the wings? Some miracle, perhaps, that grinds the Storm into a mound of weeds so it slows and only grazes the building before crumpling up?

As soon as I can see or hear again I fight my way up through a rain of black feathers a” feathers? a” to where blood runs down from the c.o.c.kpit.

Lida's dragging off her flying helmet and waving her arms.

*I'm fine, I'm fine,' she cries, eyes wide in shock.

She'll have to wait. I'm scrambling up to the navigator's seat to get at Petra, who's bent all wrong, with her safety strap straining across her neck.

*Na-a-a-a!' A scream rips through the crowd. It's Mossie a” lovely, gentle Mossie a” pus.h.i.+ng people aside as if they're flower-dollies. *Where's Petra?' she howls in a voice that's barely human. *Where's my girl?' She flings herself on to the Storm to find me wedged into the well of the navigator's seat, cradling our friend.

*Pip, oh, Pip, is she . . . ?'

I shake my head. *Alive.'

Petra's unconscious. She's no way of knowing that the minute I touched her face I was flung decades into her future, to a death by far softer and kinder means. That's why I cry. Whatever she's torn or broken today, she's going to be fine for years and years and years to come, oh thank you G.o.d-who-doesn't-exist!

Mossie slumps over the edge of the c.o.c.kpit until we're all three wet with tears and blood. Medics and fire-crews jump down from a swarm of trucks closing in on the wreck. We're drenched in dousing foam. I hear shreds of words.

Did you see that?

Impossible!

What happened?

They were going to get pulped for sure . . .

I'm not letting go of Petra yet. She's so cold she needs me to warm her. I blow a black feather from her hair, the only one left to be seen.

*It's OK,' I whisper. *I won't ever let anything hurt my friends.'

Maybe it's the heat, maybe it's the shock of Petra and Lida's lucky escape, or the strain of so many missions back-to-back, or maybe it's just some perverse mood that comes over the crew-room. I don't know how we ever dare get on to the subject of seeing the future, I just know I hate the whole idea right from the start.

It's when Petra and Lida have been released from the medics' care and I've finally been freed from yet another Scrutiny session with Reef. I love seeing him, but not when I have to sit there being questioned. Reef keeps breaking out of his Scrutiner role to ask, *What were you thinking? Why did you run to the plane? You could've been killed!' Then he remembers he's doing a job and clamps down on his emotions. I sit there, twisting my hands and saying, *I didn't think, I just ran. I don't know what happened, everything was just all right.'

As if the crash wasn't enough to deal with, there's an upcoming inspection from the man who runs all the armaments industries for Aura, including the gun factory in Sea-Ways where Mama still works a” none other than Glissom himself. In honour of the celebrity occasion the crews are all given a rare night off from missions.

*Enjoy the novelty of relaxation,' orders Furey, who hasn't had a day or night off since the war started. *Fenlon needs to keep the Storms nice and s.h.i.+ny, which in some disconnected way is supposed to be more important than actually going out to pound the enemy. If we really impress the inspector we might, just might, get the sort of credit and resources we deserve for our work.'