Retribution Falls - Chris Wooding [9]
“Yeah.” Pinn roused a bit. “You know aircraft?”
“Grew up around them. My dad was a craftbuilder. I used to fly everything I could get my hands on.” She nodded toward the Ketty Jay. “I bet I could even fly that piece of crap.”
Malvery snorted. “Good luck getting the Cap’n to let you.”
“What was your favorite?” Pinn asked her.
“My dad built me an A-18 for my sixteenth birthday. I loved that little bird.”
“So what happened? You crash it?”
“She gave up the ghost five years back. I put her down in some port up near Yortland, and she just never took off again. I didn’t have two shillies to bash together for repairs, so I took on with a crew as a navvie. Thought I could do long-haul navigation easy enough; I mean, I’d been doing it for myself all that time on the short-haul. That first trip I got us lost; we wandered into Navy airspace, and a couple of Windblades nearly blew us out of the sky. Had to learn pretty quick after that.”
“I like her,” Pinn said to Malvery.
“Well, good,” he replied. “Come on, let’s say hi to Harkins.” They nodded their farewells.
“He ain’t a bad lad,” said Malvery as they walked over to the Firecrow. “Dumb as a rock, but he’s talented, no doubt about that. Flies like a maniac.”
Firecrows had once been the mainstay of the Navy, until they were succeeded by newer models. They were built for dogfighting, with two large prothane thrusters and machine guns incorporated into the wings. A round bubble of windglass was set into the blunt snout to give the pilot a better field of vision from the cockpit, which was set right up front, in contrast to the Skylance.
Harkins was in the Firecrow, running rapidly through diagnostics. He was gangly, unshaven, and hangdog, wearing a leather pilot’s cap pushed far back. His dull brown hair was thin and receding from his high forehead. Flight goggles hung loosely around his neck. He moved in quick jerks, like a mouse, tapping gauges and flicking switches with an expression of fierce concentration. As they approached, he burrowed down to examine something in the foot well.
“Harkins!” Malvery yelled at the top of his considerably loud voice. Harkins jumped and smashed his head noisily on the flight stick.
“What? What?” Harkins cried, popping up with a panicked look in his eyes.
“I want to introduce you to the new navvie,” Malvery said, beaming. “Jez, this is Harkins.”
“Oh,” he said, taking off his hat and rubbing his crown. He looked down at Jez, then launched into a nervous babble, his sentences running into one another in their haste to escape his mouth. “Hi. I was doing, you know, checking things and that.
Have to keep her in good condition, don’t I? I mean, what’s a pilot without a plane, right? I guess you’re the same with maps. What’s a navigator without a map? Still a navigator, I suppose; it’s just that you wouldn’t have a map, but you know what I mean, don’t you?” He pointed at himself. “Harkins. Pilot.”
Jez was a little stunned. “Pleased to meet you,” was all she could say.
“Is that the Cap’n?” Harkins said suddenly, looking away across the docks. He pulled the flight goggles up and over his eyes. “It’s Crake and the Cap’n,” he confirmed. His expression became alarmed again. “They’re, um, they’re running. Yep, running down the hill. Toward the docks. Very fast.”
Malvery looked skyward in despair. “Pinn!” he called over his shoulder. “Something’s up!”
Pinn sloped into view around his Skylance and groaned. “Can’t it wait?”
“No, it bloody can’t. Tool up. Cap’n needs help.” He looked at Jez. “Can you shoot?”
Jez nodded.
“Grab yourself a gun. Welcome to the crew.”
Chapter Three
A HASTY DEPARTURE—GUNPLAY—ONE Is WOUNDED—A TERRIFYING ENCOUNTER
hey were passing out weapons, gathered behind a stack of crates that had been piled up astern of the Ketty Jay, when Crake and the captain reached them.
“Trouble?” Malvery asked.
“Must be that time of the week,” Frey replied, then yelled for Silo.
“Cap’n,” came the baritone reply from the Murthian, who was squatting at the top of