by Steve Voake
Brindle shrugged.
‘Maybe a day will come when the tide turns in this war and it’s safe to fly them again. But right now it would be suicide. Those robber flies have complete control of the skies.’
‘Well, pardon me for stating the obvious,’ said Skipper, ‘but the tide isn’t going to turn by itself, is it? I mean, if you’re just waiting around for things to get better then you’re still going to be here in twenty years with grey hair and slippers, looking at your nice shiny wasps and wondering where your life went.’
She put her hands on her hips and looked Brindle straight in the eye.
‘If you want something done about all this then you’ve got to go out and make it happen. And – if you ask me – the sooner the better.’
‘Funny – I don’t remember anyone actually asking your opinion,’ snapped Brindle.
‘Is that funny ha-ha, or funny peculiar?’
Brindle’s face reddened and he stared angrily at Skipper.
‘What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had gone and got yourself killed.’
Skipper stared right back.
‘Well, it would seem not, now, wouldn’t it?’
Brindle’s face grew redder still.
‘It’s obvious to me that you haven’t grown up any,’ he said. ‘ In more ways than one.’
He glanced pointedly at Zip and Mump. ‘I think perhaps we should discuss this in private.’
Zip coughed awkwardly.
‘Come on, Mump. Let’s go and get a shower – get cleaned up.’
‘I’m OK,’ said Mump. ‘I don’t need a shower.’
Zip dug him in the ribs and he squeaked.
‘Maybe I’ll just take one anyway,’ he said.
Sam and Skipper followed Brindle across the hangar floor, threading their way past small groups of engineers and ground crew until they reached the door of an office in the far corner. There was a glass window running the length of the room and through it Sam could see several wooden chairs and a desk. On the wall behind the desk there was a large coloured map of Aurobon. Brindle opened the door and ushered them through it before closing it firmly behind him again. Sam was surprised at how silent the room suddenly became and realised that it must be soundproofed.
‘Sit down,’ said Brindle, gesturing towards two wooden chairs before taking a seat behind the desk. He formed his hands into a steeple shape and bumped the tips of his fingers against his chin, flicking his eyes between the new arrivals. Finally he allowed his gaze to settle on Skipper.
‘I heard what you said out there,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think you fully understand the situation.’
‘I think I understand it perfectly,’ replied Skipper. ‘I understand that everyone looks terribly busy and that all your wasps are in great shape. I also understand that none of them are actually flying, in which case, they might as well be stink bugs for all the good they’re doing.’
Brindle glared at her.
‘Now you listen to me,’ he said angrily, ‘do you have even the slightest idea how many wasps we lost in the month before we finally grounded them?’
Skipper stared out of the window at a man carrying a pair of replacement antennae.
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘How many?’
‘Four hundred. And you know how many pilots we lost?’
Skipper shook her head and said nothing.
‘Two hundred and thirty-seven. Two hundred and thirty-seven young pilots who never came home again. That’s an average of around eight a day, every day for a month, killed in action. Those kids never even had a half chance. So don’t come in here telling me what I should be doing, OK? You ask me, we’re doing fine as it is. Only last week we blew up a huge arms dump and derailed a train bringing supplies in from Vermia. In the last few days alone we’ve taken out four spiders and a dozen ants.’
There was an awkward silence for a few moments. Brindle glared angrily at Skipper as she continued to stare out through the window. Finally she turned back to face him and Sam saw sadness in her eyes.
‘But it isn’t enough, is it?’ she said quietly. ‘It isn’t enough to win this war.’
Sam looked doubtfully at Brindle, half expecting him to explode with rage. But to Sam’s surprise, he simply looked at Skipper and shook his head.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Nothing we do is enough.’
‘Look,’ said Skipper. ‘If I could change things, I would. Of course I would. But I can’t, can I? I can’t bring those pilots back and neither can you. No one can. But they knew what they were doing, didn’t they? They died fighting for what they thought was right. If we give up now, then the sacrifices they made will have all been for nothing. Don’t you see? If we just sit around here playing it safe, then Odoursin wins. Is that really what you want?’
When he heard this, Brindle’s anger returned and he thumped his fist down so hard on the table that the pencils bounced around and a sheet of paper slid off onto the floor.
‘Of course it isn’t what I want! But too many people have been killed already. I will not put any more pilots’ lives at risk by sending them to certain death!’
Skipper picked up the piece of paper and slid it back on the desk.
‘Sergeant Brindle, I’m not asking you to. All I’m asking for is one wasp, that’s all. Just give us one wasp and you can forget that you ever saw us. Come on. What do you say?’
Brindle passed a hand across his eyes and when he looked up again it seemed that most of his anger had drained away, leaving only weariness behind. He turned to Sam.
‘What about you, son? What do you think?’
‘I’m with Skipper on this,’ said Sam. ‘I think the least we can do is try. If we can just get through a fabric gap and bring back a few robber fly eggs from Earth, then we can develop them back here at the lab and have them up and flying inside a month. That way, at least we’re back in with a fighting chance.’
Brindle looked at him and then back at Skipper.
‘You realise this is suicide don’t you?’
Sam shrugged. ‘The way I look at it, sitting down here polishing wasps every day is pretty much suicide. It just takes longer, that’s all. And to be honest, if it comes down to a choice between dying sooner fighting for something I believe in, or dying later without ever having tried, then I’m going for the first option every time.’
Brindle folded his arms and leaned his chair back against the wall so that his head rested against the map of Aurobon.
‘You know, I thought you two were dead anyway,’ he said, staring up at a patch on the ceiling where the plaster was cracked. ‘So maybe I should just pretend I never saw you. That way it makes no difference does it?’
Sam looked at Skipper to see if he had understood Brindle’s meaning correctly. From the uncertain smile that was hovering around her lips, he guessed that he had.
‘You mean we can have the wasp?’ Skipper asked, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.
Brindle returned his chair to its four legs and folded his large, rough hands together on the table top.
‘On one condition,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’ asked Skipper.
Sam looked at Brindle and saw that, for the first time since they had met, there was warmth in his eyes.
‘You take me with you,’ he said.
Eleven
Sam zipped up the warm, fur-lined flying jacket, strapped himself into the seat next to Brindle and looked out through the screen at the front of the wasp. He could see half a dozen ground crew rushing around below, making some final safety checks and last minute alterations to the external sensors.
‘You don’t have to do this you know,’ said Sam. ‘You don’t have to come with us.’
Brindle reached above his head and flicked a couple of switches. The cockpit lights dimmed and the dials on the control panel glowed red.
‘Listen. I’ve seen those things and I’ve heard your plan. You want my opinion? You two are going to need all t
he help you can get.’
‘We appreciate it,’ said Skipper, leaning through the space between the seats. ‘Although personally I think it’s a great plan.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Brindle gruffly, ‘we’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Now, are you sure we’ve got everything?’ asked Sam.
Skipper patted the bulky rucksack strapped on her shoulders. ‘It’s all in here. Everything a girl could need: CRB, grenades, gun, rope ladder, moisturiser…’
Brindle pushed a red button and Sam felt a slight lift as the wings hummed into life outside the cockpit.
‘Just kidding about the moisturiser by the way,’ Skipper added, pulling out a small silver flask and unscrewing the lid.
‘All right, we’re just about ready for take-off,’ Brindle announced. ‘Remember, soon as that rock opens up we’re going to hit full throttle, fire up the after-burners and accelerate out of here on maximum power. That way we avoid any robber flies pinpointing our exact location, at least until we’re clear of the base.’
He turned round to find Skipper calmly humming to herself and drinking coffee from a small metal cup. When she saw that Brindle was watching her, she took another swig and then held the cup out towards him.
‘Want some?’
‘Thank you, no,’ he said testily. ‘And I suggest you hold on tight back there. We’re going to be pulling some serious G in a minute.’
‘OK,’ said Skipper. ‘Maybe I’ll finish this later, then.’
She took a last swig, poured the rest of the coffee back into the flask and screwed the top back on. Then she leaned back on her rucksack, wedged the flask between her feet and braced herself in the small space between some wooden boxes that were stacked up in the rear of the wasp.
‘Take me to the moon, Sergeant Brindle!’ she called. ‘Fly me to the stars!’
Brindle looked at Sam.
‘Is she always like this?’
‘No,’ replied Sam. ‘Usually worse.’
Skipper cuffed him around the back of the head just as the rock in front of them disappeared in a blue flash to reveal a vista of grey sky and ice-covered rock. Snow swirled around them as the down draught from the wings grew steadily stronger. Then with a loud roar the wasp leapt forward and Sam was thrown violently back against his seat. As they climbed rapidly up towards the dark storm clouds, Sam watched a flurry of grey flakes beat endlessly against the windscreen and wondered when – if ever – he would see blue sky again.
‘Lovely weather for the time of year,’ said Skipper, hanging on the back of Sam’s seat as they levelled off in the heart of the snowstorm. The wasp pitched violently up and down in the turbulent air currents and Sam felt his seatbelt cut into his chest.
‘How much further?’ he asked, easing his hand beneath his belt in order to relieve the pressure.
‘Maybe another twenty miles,’ said Brindle. ‘This storm might be dangerous, but it’s actually quite good news for us. There won’t be many robber flies up in this weather, and those that are will have their tracking systems seriously impaired.’
‘So it’s true what they say then,’ said Skipper. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’
‘Well if it has,’ said Brindle, peering through the screen. ‘then it’s well hidden. In fact, this one’s lined with so many air currents that it’s almost impossible to maintain a steady flight path. Those robber fly pilots are staying grounded for a good reason.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Skipper.
‘Self-preservation,’ said Brindle. ‘They don’t want to die.’
‘Cowards,’ said Skipper. ‘Don’t know what they’re missing.’
As the storm intensified, visibility was reduced to virtually nil. The world beyond the screen became an impenetrable blizzard of white and although the heaters were on full blast the temperature inside the cockpit dropped sharply. Sam’s teeth began to chatter and he zipped his flying jacket all the way up to his chin.
‘How long now?’ he asked, shouting to be heard above the clattering heaters and the howling wind outside.
Brindle glanced at the air speed indicator and did a quick calculation.
‘In these conditions? I’d say about twenty minutes. That’s if we don’t crash first.’
‘What’s that?’ shouted Skipper from the rear of the wasp.
‘I said, “That’s if we don’t crash first”,’ yelled Brindle.
‘No,’ said Skipper. ‘What’s that?’ She reached between the seats and pointed at a small dial near the top of the control panel.
‘That’s the radar,’ replied Brindle. He leaned forward and took a closer look. Sam saw that a red dot was blinking furiously in the centre of the dial.
Brindle’s face turned the colour of snow.
‘It’s them,’ he said. ‘They’ve found us.’
Then the cockpit exploded in a fury of glass and snow.
For a moment or two, Sam didn’t know whether he was alive or dead. As his seatbelt mechanism disintegrated, something flew past him and he briefly experienced a floating sensation before slamming violently into the ceiling which had suddenly become the floor. With a sickening crack his knees smashed against his face and he groaned, tasting blood in his mouth. Then a hand grabbed him by the hair, yanking him back over the seats and suddenly he was lying on the floor as the wasp spun around like some crazy, out-of-control fairground ride.
Skipper’s face was inches from his own, shouting something at him. He watched her lips moving, but couldn’t hear a thing.
Nothing made any sense.
Everything was frozen, caught in some strange moment out of time.
Sam blinked and tried to shout.
Gradually, the world began to move again.
He saw Skipper raise her hand, watched it swing slowly through the air and felt a sharp pain as it struck him hard across the face.
There was a buzz, a whine and then the world came back again with a fast and furious roar.
‘Sam, you have got to listen!’ Skipper screamed.
Sam shook his head in an effort to clear it and concentrated hard on Skipper’s lips.
‘Follow me – OK?’ she shouted.
‘OK!’ he shouted back through the confusion.
The noise was deafening. From somewhere above the shrieking of the wind and the roar of the wing motors there came a tearing sound, like someone ripping a sheet of canvas in two. Sam turned and saw that the top of the wasp had been torn open like a tin can and a huge pair of jaws was thrusting and snapping at the packing cases, splintering them like matchwood. Two shining black eyes stared down into the broken wasp, searching them out. Sam remembered the hideous creature he had seen on the mountain side and realised that he was looking straight into the eyes of a robber fly.
Skipper quickly pulled out a small silver torch which Sam recognised as a cellular restructuring beam and pointed it at the side of the wasp.
‘Let’s go!’ she screamed.
There was a blue flash, a fizz as the side wall dissolved and then Skipper scrambled out through the hole and disappeared from view. Sam threw himself after her and found himself in the middle of a howling storm. He realised that the robber fly must have attacked them from above, clamping its legs around the wasp’s body and using its powerful jaws to rip it apart. As they spun giddily through the air, Sam briefly caught sight of the ground whirling beneath them before the blizzard closed in once more.
‘Quickly, Sam! Grab a leg!’
Skipper was hanging from one of the fly’s legs and Sam quickly grabbed at the thick bristles, swinging himself up and away from the wasp.
It was not a moment too soon. As he pulled himself clear, the fly released its grip on the wasp and it fell away, spiralling uselessly down towards the ground. The fly accelerated away into the sky and Sam knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. But he also knew that if he let go, a painful death awaited him on the rocks a thousand feet below. So with muscles aching and hands numb with cold, he grabbed
hold of the coarse cable-like hairs and pulled himself upwards, inch by painful inch.
An icy wind howled in his face and he wrapped his arms around the leg, feeling the wiry hairs scratch against his cheek. Ice particles crystallised on his eyelashes like frozen sugar. Looking up, he saw that Skipper had reached the top of the leg and there was a blue flash as she made an opening in the fly’s abdomen with the CRB. Seconds later, a rope ladder dropped from the hole and snaked past him. He tentatively stretched out a hand, but it hung several feet beyond his reach.
‘I can’t get to it!’ he shouted, only to hear his words disappear on the wind.
He pressed his face against the rough hairs and felt his muscles weaken.
Glancing up again, he saw that Skipper was climbing back down the rope ladder towards him. After a little way she stopped and kicked her legs backwards so that she was just hanging by her hands. Arching her back, she began to move her body back and forth, setting up a momentum that made the whole rope ladder swing.
Come on, he told himself. You either stay here until you fall off, or you move. No one’s going to do it for you.
Taking a deep breath he slowly unfolded his fingers from their grip on the hairs. As he stretched out an arm towards the ladder he felt the clunk of a wooden rung against his fingertips and by leaning out a little further he was able to grab it and pull it towards him. Still holding tightly with his right hand and with the heel of his right foot hooked firmly around the fly’s leg, he managed to slide his left foot onto one of the rungs.
This was it.
It was now or never.
Shifting his weight slightly, he stepped out into space and with a rush of freezing wind the ladder swung away from the leg like a pendulum.
As he swept through the air he could see the mountains circling the plain below him and far away to his left he could just make out the distant city of Vahlzi. With his heart pounding in his chest, he grasped the rung above his head and began to climb.
‘Well done,’ said Skipper, rubbing snow from her hair as Sam fell gasping into the fly’s underbelly. ‘You should have been in the circus.’ Pulling up the rope ladder, she pointed the CRB at the hole in the floor and it closed up again in a flash of brilliant blue light.
