Earth and Fire

by Janet Edwards

  She frowned. “I don’t see how being so high up in the air can ever be safe. What if something goes wrong and the plane falls out of the sky? I must have been scared to death a dozen times over the years by emergency calls telling me you were in a casualty unit, Jarra. I don’t want to get one telling me you’re in a mortuary!”

  “A plane wouldn’t fall out of the sky, and even if it did you wear impact suits and hover tunics.” It didn’t seem a good idea to tell her that hover tunics couldn’t stop your fall, only slow it, so you had to hope your protective impact suit stopped you being seriously injured when you hit the ground. I hurried on to the key point.

  “I want to do some more flying this summer and try to get my pilot’s licence. The Dig Site Federation encourages its professional pilots to give people flying lessons, but I’ll need your consent to register for a training licence.”

  Candace closed her eyes for a few seconds, then opened them and spoke in a strained voice. “Surely you need to be 18 for this, Jarra.”

  “No, the age rule is 17 for a private pilot’s licence. You need to be older to get a professional pilot’s licence but …”

  She lifted a hand to stop me. “It would still be better for you to leave trying this until you’re legally adult.”

  “But I’ll be doing my Pre-history Foundation course next year, and then my full degree after that. My class will be working on the dig sites as well as having lectures each day. You know I want to be picked for the class dig team 1.”

  “Yes,” said Candace. “You’ve explained it to me repeatedly. Dig team 1 will be trusted with the most important excavations. I’m sure you’ll be chosen for it.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t count on it. Everyone else in the class will be fighting for places on dig team 1 as well. If they’re better than me, more experienced …”

  “I don’t see how they can be more experienced than you, Jarra,” said Candace, in a soothing voice. “You’ve been working obsessively hard for years, spending every school break on dig sites to prepare for this.”

  “Yes, but other people do that too. Anyway, my point is that I wouldn’t get a spot on team 1 if I kept vanishing to have flying lessons. I’d end up on team 5 or 6 instead, which would wreck my practical grades, affect what full degree course I can do, and …”

  I had to break off for a second to get my voice under control. “Candace, I don’t want to have to choose between my history degree and learning to fly. I’ve got an amaz chance this summer. Please let me take it. You don’t understand how zan it is being up there in the sky.”

  “No, I don’t.” Candace gazed at me with a stressed expression. “I can’t imagine how you could feel it’s anything other than terrifying.”

  I tried to find words that would explain even part of how I felt about this. “I get so frustrated knowing I can’t travel to other worlds. Other people may accept they’re stuck on Earth, but I can’t. Every time I think about it, I feel like I’m locked up in prison, but not when I’m flying. When I’m flying, I own the sky and I’m free.”

  Candace gave a little shake of her head that didn’t mean a no, but pure indecision. “What does your history teacher think about you going up in these planes? Does he approve?”

  “He’s the one who told me about the pilot coming to New York Fringe this summer.”

  “Your teachers have very conflicting views about you, Jarra. With some subjects, you’ve put in a hundred and ten per cent effort and done brilliantly. With others you’ve refused to do anything at all. Your history teacher has always been your strongest supporter. I respect how hard he works to help his pupils, but I’ve often wished he didn’t encourage you to take so many risks.”

  “We always follow safety procedures on the dig site,” I said.

  “But you’ve still been involved in a number of accidents.” Candace gave the shake of her head again. “I knew you were planning something. You’ve had that intent look of yours for the last few weeks, and that always means there’s trouble coming, but I wasn’t expecting …”

  She let that sentence drift off into nothing and started another. “Next Year Day, you’ll be legally adult. Overnight, you’ll go from being constantly controlled by the rules of Hospital Earth to making all your own decisions. When I left Next Step myself, I saw the abruptness of that change had a bad effect on some of my friends. Ever since then, I’ve said it would be better to allow 17-year-olds more control over their lives. It’s hypocritical to say that and not do it myself, and allowing control means accepting some decisions I don’t agree with or even that frighten me.”

  She sighed. “Flying in an aircraft seems horribly dangerous to me, Jarra, but I realize that’s a purely instinctive reaction born of total ignorance. You’ll be flying with an experienced professional pilot employed by the Dig Site Federation, and there must be any number of safety checks. There’s no sense in me blocking this if all it achieves is a six month delay and damage to your career prospects. If you’re sure you want to do this, then I’ll register my consent.”

  I smiled at her joyfully. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m really sure.”

  Chapter Six

  It was vital I went to talk to the pilot at New York Fringe as soon as possible, to explain about my need for flying lessons and sort out my training licence application. I was in Europe which ran on Green time, while New York was in America which ran on Green time minus five hours. That meant I could go to New York this evening, and arrive in time to talk to the professional pilot when he stopped work for the day. The big problem with doing that, was I wouldn’t get back to Next Step in time for curfew roll call at 22:00 hours.

  If I missed curfew roll call, then all chaos would let loose, so I reluctantly decided I couldn’t go to New York until tomorrow. That was a school day, so I had to sit impatiently through my lessons before finally portalling to the nearest Europe Transit. I didn’t portal inter-continent very often, because it was more expensive than local portalling and I needed to watch my credit allowance. I was pleased to see an inter-continental portal was already locked open to America, and joined the queue for it to save myself a few credits.

  I stood there, feeling bored, and remembered seeing the norms sitting and waiting in Europe Off-world. A lot of them had looked bored too. How often did you have to portal between worlds before it stopped being thrilling? The people in the off-world vids talked about travelling to other worlds in the same way my friends and I would talk about portalling to another continent. Norms only seemed to get excited about travelling to a planet far away in a different sector. When I thought what I’d give to spend even a single day on the closest of worlds, Adonis, and …

  I walked through the portal into a Transit that was almost identical to the one I’d just left, and paused to double-check the time on the information display because changing time zones always muddled me. I saw that I should reach New York Fringe just in time for the pilot’s long midday break, and hurried on towards the local portals. New York Fringe Command Centre was a restricted portal destination, but my genetic code was still recorded as authorized after my previous visits with the history club. I arrived in the reception area and went up to the desk.

  “I’ll be coming to New York Fringe with my school this summer,” I said. “I’ve done some flying already, and I’d like to talk to your survey pilot about working with him to get my private pilot’s licence.”

  The woman behind the desk had looked half-asleep but she suddenly woke up. “Pilot’s licence,” she repeated. “Identification?”

  “Jarra Reeath.” I usually described myself as imprisoned in Next Step, but it seemed wise to leave out the jokes this time. “Next Step E241/1089.”

  She tapped her desk and information scrolled down its inlaid display area. “Yes, I see you’ve been taking quite an interest. Flights at several sites.” She tapped the desk again. “Is the New York survey plane landing soon?”

  “He’s only got one more survey leg to complete,” said a male vo
ice.

  “Thanks.” She looked up at me. “You can wait by the landing area if you want. It’s inside the force fence, so you won’t need to suit up if you just want to talk to the pilot rather than actually fly today.”

  I nodded, headed outside, and studied the sky. It was a few minutes before I saw an aircraft come into view over the grey domes of New York Fringe Command Centre. I watched closely as it circled to lose height, made its landing approach, switched so smoothly from thrusters to hovers that I could barely see the transition, and landed. Everyone said you could judge a pilot from their landings, and that had been a great one. I could be confident I had a good pilot to teach me this summer.

  The cockpit opened and a figure in the official grey, blue and white impact suit of a Dig Site Federation pilot climbed out. As I hurried towards him, he unsealed the front of his hood, pulled it down, and ran his hands through sandy hair that was speckled with grey.

  “No,” he said, in a pained voice. “Please no, not you again. Of all the annoying passengers I’ve ever had in my plane, you were by far the most irritating. What the chaos are you doing at New York Fringe, Jarra?”

  I felt like asking Gradin exactly the same question. I’d had some flying lessons from him a couple of years ago, but that was on a different continent. Dig sites sometimes shared pilots, but New York would surely share with another dig site in America, not with …

  But there was no point in me wasting time worrying about why this had happened. Whether the Dig Site Federation organized things in a completely nardle fashion, or whether Gradin had relocated to America in the last couple of years, didn’t matter. Gradin was the pilot who’d be flying the survey of New York Fringe. I couldn’t do anything to change the situation, so I’d have to work with it.

  I decided I’d better say what I wanted right away. I’d probably only spent a total of ten hours in Gradin’s company, but he had a very memorable personality, and I knew he preferred people to be totally upfront and honest. “I’m coming to New York Fringe this summer with my school history club, and since you’re doing a full survey of …”

  I stopped at this point because he was already chanting a single word at me. “No, no, no, no, no! Let’s save time here. You want me to give you rides in my plane, and I’m not going to do it. I had more than enough of you last time. I told you that.”

  “But …”

  He shook his head. “I said the answer was no, Jarra. There’s absolutely no way I’m going to listen to you yapping away about pre-history again. I hear far too much about it from all the history obsessed idiots I work with. I don’t need you joining in as well.”

  He tapped the curved lookup that he wore, Military pilot style, attached to the forearm of his impact suit. “What unspeakable idiot let this girl through to my landing area?”

  “The unspeakable idiot would be me,” said the voice of the woman at the reception desk. Her tone changed to that of someone reciting something. “Due to the continuing shortage of qualified pilots, Dig Site Federation policy is to provide every possible help and encouragement to anyone showing an interest in learning to fly.”

  “I know, I know, I know,” said Gradin. “You keep telling me that, but I said I’d had enough after that boy threw up in my cockpit, and I meant it. My plane stank of vomit for days. No more passengers!”

  “It’s part of your job to give people flying lessons, Gradin,” said the woman.

  “So fire me! I don’t care. I’m retiring at Year End anyway.”

  The woman started to reply, but Gradin stabbed his lookup with a forefinger to cut off the call.

  “You’re retiring?” I stared at him in disbelief. I couldn’t imagine Gradin ever giving up flying. It was his whole life.

  “Yes, Jarra. I’m retiring, quitting, going. I’ve had enough. This Year End, I’m moving to a much easier job flying a portal delivery freight plane.”

  That was a lot more believable than him giving up flying entirely, but I still didn’t understand him wanting to leave a place like this to go and deliver portals. “Won’t you miss the dig sites and the history?”

  He sighed. “I don’t like history. I like flying. Ancient cities are just very nasty places that I fly over and hope like chaos I won’t crash on. I’ve told you that before. Repeatedly. You never listen.”

  I abandoned that issue in favour of the more important one. “Well, you’ll still be here this summer, and I need your help to get my private pilot’s licence.”

  “Private pilot’s licence!” He shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no! Do you have the faintest idea how much work it takes to get a licence? That doesn’t just mean work from you, but work from the unfortunate person teaching you as well.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was really worried about the amount of work involved, or if he was making random excuses, but decided I’d better exaggerate my flying experience a little. “It wouldn’t be that much work for you. I’ve had a lot of flying lessons from other pilots as well as you, so I only need my mandatory training hours now. In fact, I’d actually be saving you work, because you’d just be a passenger having a nice rest while I fly the surveys.”

  “I don’t want to be a passenger in my own plane,” said Gradin, in an aggrieved voice. “You’re too young, anyway. The minimum age for getting a private pilot’s licence is 17.”

  “I turned 17 last Year Day.”

  Gradin gave me a frustrated look. “I don’t care if you’re 7, 17 or 70, the answer is still no. It’s not just the way you kept talking about pre-history. I was a gibbering wreck after the last time I let you take control of my aircraft. You kept hitting the thrusters and throwing us round the sky like you were flying a fighter in combat instead of a survey plane over a dig site. Go away and leave me alone.”

  I remembered that last lesson with Gradin. I’d known it was my last chance to fly an aircraft for at least four months. I’d thought I’d never see Gradin again. I’d been intent on making the most of my precious minutes in the air.

  “I admit I was overenthusiastic back then, but it was a long time ago and I’m a much more sensible pilot now.”

  “It can’t have been that long ago,” said Gradin, “because I’m still having nightmares about it. You’ll have to find someone else to teach you.”

  He turned and started walking rapidly away, but I chased after him. I knew Gradin adored flattery, so I tried a new tactic. “We both know there aren’t any other pilots as good as you.”

  Gradin slowed his pace a little. “That’s true, but I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for second best.”

  I shook my head, and forced my voice into gushingly admiring tones. “It wouldn’t be second best, but third, or possibly even fourth.”

  Gradin stopped walking and studied me thoughtfully for a moment. “Your attitude does seem to have improved a bit.”

  “I promise I wouldn’t bore you by talking about pre-history,” I said. “I wouldn’t be talking anyway, but listening to you. I want to hear all about your experiences as a pilot.”

  I waited hopefully while Gradin considered that. He was definitely looking tempted. He always enjoyed talking, especially when he was talking about himself.

  “You never told me how you first got interested in flying,” I added. “You don’t like pre-history, so you can’t have seen aircraft flying over a dig site.”

  “I haven’t got time to talk about that now,” he said. “It’s my midday break. I’ve only got two hours to get out of my impact suit, shower, eat, rest, and suit up again.”

  I gave him a pleading look. “It would only take five minutes.”

  Gradin pulled a face. “If you really want to know, it was because of a pack of wolves.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “The whole thing was totally ridiculous,” he continued. “It was a couple of weeks after the Year Day when my best friend and I turned 18. The other kids at our Next Step were horribly earnest and sickeningly well behaved, so they all went off to study courses at Unive
rsity Earth, but the two of us chose to try living on the basic subsistence allowance and having fun instead. The plan was that every day we’d break one of the rules they’d imposed on us in Next Step. We were a bit powered on this particular day, and running out of credits, so we decided to go for a country walk on the wrong side of the animal control barriers in Europe because it wouldn’t cost us anything.”

  I thought of my recent trip to Europe Off-world. “I understand you wanting to break rules and go to forbidden places, but you weren’t just risking getting arrested doing that. You could have been killed!”

  Gradin held up a hand to stop me. “I know, I know, I know. The animal control barriers are there to stop hazardous predators entering the safe zones. Anyone with any sense would realize that walking on the side where the predators live was lethally dangerous, but my friend and I didn’t have any sense even when we were sober. We were lucky that we met nothing worse than some wolves, and those showed up when we were near some nice climbable trees. So there we were, each sitting in our own tree, and me dripping blood from a bite on my leg.”

  He shrugged. “We used our lookups to call for help, and eventually an aircraft arrived, used sonics to send the wolves running, and picked us up. I’ll never forget the flight back. The pilot was continuously swearing at us for being so stupid and interrupting his day off, my friend was scared stiff and air sick, and I was staring out of the window in a total daze. I knew after that I had to be a pilot myself. I can’t explain the feeling but …”

  During our previous encounters, Gradin and I had done nothing but argue. I was grazzed to discover we had a lot of things in common. He wasn’t just a frustrated rebel like me. I could see by his expression that he felt the same way I did about flying.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said eagerly. “It’s the feeling that you’ve escaped from prison and could fly right to the stars.”