[2.0] First Homecoming

The recovery lounge was empty now. Of course, all the pilots were back in their quarters, or at the bar, and for the most part all the mechanics and medical technicians had been dismissed. Conlan's orders, probably, and Vincent obliging him. The two of them were eternally in-cahoots.

Camilla waited on the platform where the Camalus would ultimately come to rest. Right now it was still in the open-air dock, being cooled down and rigged up and relieved of its cargo. She could see it through the big garage door that led from the platform: the whole craft was smoking, and a small team bustled around it, looking for safe places to hitch the lifts. All she could see was a portion of the starboard side, and some of the panelling slipped off like citrus rinds.

Vincent had told her. Told her that he'd insisted on flying the thing back on his own. In that wreck, and at the shape he must have been in . . .

She squeezed her nails into her palms and did a little turn around the platform.

What am I going to do with him?

The first thing she heard, before she even picked the little caddy's engine out of the soup of machine noise, was Graham.

Naturally.

". . . to say that it wasn't basically the most mind-blowing thing you've ever done, 'cause it was and I don't want to take away from your achievements or anything, achievements are important when you run this kind of business - but it was really freaking stupid, man. Like, if I weren't a technical pacifist and all, and if you didn't look, you know, like you just pulled a marathon flight in a wrecked airship, I'd definitely consider socking you in the ribs right now."

"Just watch where you're driving."

"What kind of answer is that? Dude, you really must be exhausted."

Conlan was slumped in the back of the jeep, arms spread out across the back of seats and his head slumped forward. His clothes were rumpled. Half the collar of his shirt was still tucked under his flying jacket, and the other was bent up against his neck. She could make observations about his hair, but that was usually a bit of a mess anyway.

The worst thing was his eyes. At some point some lumia flecks must have gotten into the cabin, because they were inflamed and the left one had an unhealthy sheen that needed washing-out. He looked up at her when the dock caddy came to a stop a few feet away, and he managed a smirk.

"Well? You can scold me now, if you want. I probably I owe you that much."

This whole time she had been waiting, she'd been trying to decide how she should respond. There were so many reasons to be infuriated with him, and just as many reasons to be happy.

She settled finally, with giving his arm a little jostle.

"You shouldn't have hung up on me," she told him, with a small smile, "but I'm assuming you thought it was for my own good."

"Yeah, well, he shouldn't assume," Graham put in, turning sideways in the driver's seat. "You pretty much sent everyone into cardiac arrest. You're lucky there weren't any really old people with faint hearts in the lobby, or you might be looking at manslaughter right now, buddy."

Conlan huffed and looked over his shoulder at the still-smoking Camalus. "Don't know if it was even worth it. Most of the money will be absorbed in getting us a new ship."

Camilla teetered forward with an incredulous laugh. "What on Celares are you talking about? A new ship? Conlan, do you know how much that last burst is worth? We could almost buy a new fleet. We could buy the Andrasta! And remodel the whole airstation. Fund your racing career for the next ten seasons!"

He stared at her. ". . . What?"

"We're rolling in dough," Graham said, flipping out of the jeep and strolling off toward the docks.

"It was special grade lumia in that burst," Camilla elaborated. "It must have been sitting there, purifying, for decades. Maybe that snake kept anyone from reach it - I really have no clue, but it's worth triple what you already had in the turbine. We're already talking to Loteara - the Armed Forces Commission's going to purchase the whole lot for 150% the market value."

He continued to stare at her, but she wasn't sure she was the one he was seeing.

"We have enough to claim the Andrasta?" he asked. He leaned forward a little, eyebrows raised.

She giggled. "Yeah. Yes, we do. Definitely."

"So, we also have enough money for a new contractor. A mechanic, for the Andastra?"

She frowned. Maybe he'd taken a blow to the head or something? Sure, it was a lot of money, but Conlan wasn't the type to get this . . . dazed about it. Even if it was the Andastra. And so what if they could afford a new contractor -

Oh.

"We have enough to buy a contract," she said, quietly.

She met Conlan's eyes.

She repeated, so loud that her voice reverberated off the high walls of the lounge: "The fortress has enough money to buy a contract!"

[1.5] Implausible Perfection

Somewhere, Camilla Rosen gripped the desk monitor in a kind of trance, watching the screen as Vincent worked to reconnect with the Camalus.

The lobby, in dull shock, waited.

***

Stars fell, along with crashing, curving curtains of light that cut the malfunctioning lumia shields like a Desdairan claymore. A trail of fire followed the Camalus as it descended.

Above, explosions and death. The snake hit the detonating burst field. The snake, predictably, detonated along with it. Fortunately, he was far and away from that particular mess.

So, Conlan continued to fall, in his oversized tin can, through shafts of ribbed air. Remarkably uninterested eyes observed the lumia burst pass through his line of sight and back out of it.

He counted, under his breath. Did some calculations. A little geometry. Deduced how much fuel was actually left in the tank, as opposed to how much the gauge testified. The state of the air currents were slowing his descent, so he had more time than he thought he would for planning.  

Then he righted the ship and reignited the engine for the Camalu's last flight before being gutted for scrap.

***

Camilla watched on the restored diagnostic read-out as Conlan flew up in a perfect inverted arc, dodging the fallout of what must have been the most bloody luma explosion she had ever seen, and engaged the wand and net to bring the lumia burst home.

He had adjusted the fuel gauge. Even when it read empty, there was still just enough for one more Hail Mary. 

The burst of lumia entered the Camalus' turbine, and after a short load screen the monitor spelled it out for her and the whole audience in nodes.

Graham, up on the balcony, put it best:

"Jackpot."

***

"Hey, Vincent."

"Hold on a second, Conlan. Coordinating your rescue, at the moment."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I just need . . . " He coughed. ". . . a jump start, OK? I can fly this thing in on my own."

"You caught the burst. I think you've more or less exhausted everyone's wish for dramatics."

"I know. That's what I'm saying. I don't want a lot of guys out here trying to pull me in. Ship's a wreck. It's gonna . . . Just, minimum response, alright? Just get me enough spark to fly her in quietly."

Vincent sighed. Dialed up the response team. "Whatever you say."

[1.4] Reckless and Irrational

Storm snake. Overgrown cobra. Maybe even call it a dragon - Conlan didn't have time to get caught up in the semantics of the thing, as much as he did love semantics. What he had here was a very large snake capable of decimating what little remained of the Camalus. It coiled through the air, thin as silk but very wide, and charged with enough lumia to disrupt air traffic for thousands of miles if it ever got out of the storm. Definite international safety risk. It's head reared back, all slit eyes and needle-fine teeth and centuries of barely refined rage. And he was still heading right for it.

"Camilla, I'm gonna have to call you back."

"What? Co-"

While he was at it, he disconnected from the fortress computers entirely. It would take a good five minutes or so for Vincent to override and get back on, but that would be enough for Conlan.

Sailors are a superstitious bunch. This is common knowledge. The thing is, so are pilots - each in their own way. And Conlan didn't like to kill himself when it could be broadcast to an audience. He also believed a certain Mad Goddess, patron of pilots and young warriors, liked a good show now and then, and before he sealed the deal he turned on the night flying lights. A beacon.

He flew right at the head of the snake, looked into its abyss of a mouth, felt the air fill with lumia particles and gnash at every part of him. All around, kaleidoscopic shards of light and glass.

He allowed the last of the exhaust filter to break off, sending a spray of multi-hued fumes out in a fan.

And right as he was about to fly in, right as the snake shot forward for the killing blow, Conlan spun out the airship. Whipped the steering console and let the tail fling right into the burst field. Let the exhaust hit the burst field.

He cut the engine and fell.

[1.3] Launch

A press of the button, and with the jet stream still pressing around the airship and encasing it in glowing air, the steering console sank a few inches into the floor, angled up, and reformed itself into something resembling the front of a  motorbike. The pilot's seat shifted forward and up to accommodate, and then Conlan was in business, barely strapped in but hands gripped around the steering bars.

This kind of set-up was murder on a pilot's back, and frankly rather dangerous, what with the constant threat of being bucked off the console, but it offered an unparalleled level of control if one got used to it.

"Conlan?" Camilla asked, her voice soft compared to the sound of the wind and the engines.

No time to talk.

To his right. He had to get into that air pocket, burst field or not. He was leaking too much exhaust for it to be anywhere near safe, but there wasn't any choice. He would pass the target burst if he stayed in the jet stream any longer, and if he tore out the conventional way, he would overshoot.

Ok, improv. His best friend.

Conlan slammed down hard on the right bar, yanked up on the left, and threw the airship into a hard roll out of the jet stream.

***

Camilla whipped around in her seat and stared up on the overhead screens as the Camalus swept sideways out of the windpath, stopping just short of hitting the burst field, the airship swinging loose and barely keeping forward momentum for a moment before speeding ahead.

The lobby was silent.

Then, from the balcony, "That was a barrel roll at minimum operating capacity!"

And then everyone was talking again, about how history was being made and he was brave and stupid and amazing and people were going to be talking about this for years and Camilla just looked on at the screen, quiet, lips pursed.

He would make it. There was nothing else she believed more.

***

It was going to be a miracle if he made it. 

Conlan shifted gears again a prepared to for descent. If he just brought it down nice and easy, at the right angle, then this would be the most simple part of the evening. The burst was already lined up in the airship's sights, the turbines and the mechanical "wand" of sorts ready to guide the burst safely into holding. And the air pocket was calm and cool, just come clouds way down below.

The burst field was his only real worry at the moment. He was keeping the Camalus almost too close to the jet stream's wall in order to avoid hitting the field with the ship's leaking exhaust. Too bad if he just shut up the whole thing he'd be dead in two minutes from lumia poisoning.

"Alright, I'm bringing this thing in," he told Camilla, dipping the console forward, the ship following suit.

"Hm. That isn't what you were doing before?"

Conlan nearly had the nose of the ship in line with the burst, now. Visibility was good - getting foggy around the burst, but that was because he would be dipping back into storm territory to grab it.

He took it down.

The burst field seemed to keep up alongside him, and he maneuvered carefully to keep the wing tips out of its reach. The particle shields were struggling, though, and grains of light began to build up on the windshield.

Then, suddenly, still in the clear zone, the flight path staggered. The whole airship rocked with it, and it felt like something rolled under the ship - unnervingly similar, Conlan suspected, to driving over a body. He tried to pull back a bit, but the momentum was already there, it would take another insanity play to slow down now. As he jostled the steering console, trying to get the ship to pull it together and stop the turbulence, a supernova of refracted light crackled into his path, revealing a storm snake ready to lunge.