Chapter 1
The bright pink fighter jet zipped past – missing Ruban’s ear by less than an inch – to collide headfirst with the jumbo koala balloon.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then came the telltale pop. Followed by a loud, rattling exhale as the air escaped the confines of its plastic (koala-shaped) prison.
The koala sagged, its massive body folding in on itself as it drifted slowly downwards.
And plopped directly on top of the two-tier spaceship birthday cake, squishing the buttercream orbiter into the fondant rocket boosters with an eerie squelch.
Vikram gasped. Simani clapped a hand over Sri’s mouth, cutting her son off mid-shriek.
Setting Hiya’s bizarrely tight-lidded candy jar down with a thud, Ruban whirled on Ashwin.
A red haze descended upon his vision. His nails dug painfully into the palms of his hands. Almost against his will, his body lurched forward, advancing on the petrified Aeriel one step at a time.
“How many times,” Ruban gritted his teeth, swallowing back the agonized howl that rose to his lips. “Did I tell you to keep those goddamned planes away from the balloons?”
“But I did,” Ashwin wailed, crossing both arms defensively in front of his face. “I put them on the top shelf of your wardrobe last night. I’ve no idea how she got into it. I swear I—”
“My Starfighter Typhoon!” Hiya keened, throwing herself at the balloon-covered cake.
Ruban grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, but not before Sri had broken free of his mother’s hold to follow Hiya into the confectionary chaos.
Between one moment and the next, both children were knuckle-deep into the blue frosting, stuffing themselves with cake even as they scavenged for the lost jet.
“Well,” Vikram sighed, levering himself out of the recliner by the window. “That could’ve gone better.”
Twenty minutes later, all that remained of the seven-inch cake was a single fondant rocket booster lying forlornly between two candy-coated planets.
A successful search and rescue operation had seen the Starfighter Typhoon recovered from the buttercream-covered combat zone of the dining table. The triumphant SAR team busied itself restoring the jet to its former magenta glory, by efficiently licking blue frosting off its wing spars.
“Seems like yesterday she used to haunt the IAW headquarters clinging to your neck like a baby sloth.” Vikram sipped thoughtfully on his hot chocolate spiked with whisky. “I can’t believe she’s twelve already.”
“Probably because she doesn’t act like it,” Ruban grunted, making a half-hearted attempt at clearing the bestrewn dining table. “I, for one, have no problem believing that Sri is twelve. And he’s only four months older than her.”
“It’s because she lacks a strong female role model in the family,” Ashwin nodded sagely, packing the leftovers into microwavable lunchboxes for school the next day. “Casia says that’s what they need as they’re growing up. Little girls, I mean. They need a strong female role model that they can emulate and learn from.” He pointed his spatula at Ruban. “You should do something about it.”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Eyes narrowing into slits, Ruban turned to face him. “Why me? Seems more like your area of expertise, doesn’t it? God knows you’re freakishly strong.” A malevolent smirk appeared on his lips. “And that notorious Aeriel gender confusion was bound to come in handy at some point. I’m sure Hiya wouldn’t notice the difference, at any rate.”
“He’s three seconds away from hurling that spatula at your head, Ruban,” Simani deadpanned, polishing off the residual gravy on her husband’s abandoned dinner plate. “And I’m not sure I’d want him to miss, if he did.”
“Your traitorous proclivities have been noted, Vaz.” Ruban grinned widely at his partner. “That’s a superior officer you’re threatening. In defense of an Aeriel, no less. I’d say that’s a court-martial waiting to happen, but if the cults got wind of it—”
“Speaking of the cults,” Vikram interrupted, holding his cup out to Ashwin for more liquor. “Wasn’t Dhriti Pathak supposed to broker a deal between HAVA and the IAW last month? They’re acting up again, and there hasn’t even been any official declaration of an alliance yet. Pathak certainly has been taking her sweet time dealing with them, hasn’t she?”
“Well, she’s the senior secretary of defence.” Simani sipped thoughtfully on her own cup of whisky-infused hot chocolate. “I’m sure she has more on her plate than simply mediating between the IAW and those upstart cultists. I don’t even think Raizada takes them seriously enough to agree to the type of compromise HAVA will expect.”
“Who cares what Raizada agrees to?” Ruban snapped. “The senior secretary of defence outranks the IAW director, does she not? The cults are becoming more of a menace on the streets with every passing day. If ever there was a bad time for the IAW brass to get into a pissing match with the Cabinet, this is the worst.”
“It’s not just Raizada or the IAW that’s opposed to negotiating with the cults,” Simani pointed out. “The minister of external affairs told a panel of Kanbarian journalists yesterday that Vandram will not be cutting any deals with HAVA. She was quite categorical about it—”
“And no wonder. The Zainian and Kanbarian media are having a field day with the rumors of an alliance with Vaan.” Vikram leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers still wrapped around the nearly-empty cup of hot chocolate. “I mean, why’d the Vandran government need to cut a deal with a cult that calls itself the Humans Against Vaan Alliance – if there’s no alliance to begin with? It’s no wonder Jheel Sen is against mediation. This whole mess has put the Foreign Office in a horribly awkward position from the very beginning. But what’s Raizada’s excuse?”
Ruban’s phone screeched in his pocket, preempting his reply. He frowned. This particular ringtone never boded well. But everyone at the Quarter knew he was off tonight. Surely Hema wouldn’t…
He swiped to receive the call.
“What is it?” Simani asked, once the brief conversation was over. The tension in her voice belied her casual tone and the lazily raised eyebrow. “I’d have thought Faiz and Hema could handle one night.”
Ruban shrugged. “Disturbance near Kanla Park. Possible Aeriel activity. HAVA’s been planning a protest in that area, and the authorities want someone ‘experienced’ on the scene. Just in case.”
“In other words, they want someone authorized to use a reinforced sifblade.” Simani rolled her eyes. “You’d think we didn’t survive the last six centuries without reinforced sif. If it wasn’t for this alliance, they’d be handing them out to children at the Emancipation Day Parade.”
“I’ll go with you.” Ashwin emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a fluffy, koala-printed kitchen towel. “If we don’t know how many Aeriels there are—”
“It’s not about the Aeriels.” Ruban cut him off with a brief shake of his head. “This could potentially be a trap set up by the cults, maybe even HAVA itself, to fan the flames of anti-Vaan sentiment—”
“Or it could be an attack by the vankrai,” Ashwin countered. “We both know they’ve held a grudge against you since the fight at Reivaa’s castle—”
“And you think I can’t handle a bunch of disgruntled half-breeds?” Ruban snarled. “I didn’t become a Hunter at Reivaa’s castle. I’ve been fighting and killing the likes of them since—”
“Will the two of you shut up?” Simani groaned, rising to stand between them. “Much as it pains me to say this, Ashwin, Ruban is right about this one. Rumors of the Vaan alliance have already been making people wary. If this really is a skirmish between the cults and the vankrai, your presence will only complicate matters further.”
“Plus, if worst comes to worst, Ruban can just sit back and let the cults and the vankrai kill each other.” Rising to his feet, Vikram came to stand beside his wife. “A good riddance on both sides. But Ashwin’s presence anywhere near HAVA could quickly turn into a political catastrophe, at this stage.”
“And then who’ll help me refit the Starfighter Typhoon for our next campaign?” Hiya asked, eyebrows drawn together as she poked at a piece of blue fondant stuck between a wing and the fuselage of the pink aircraft. “We need to have it completely restored before we go to war with Vaan.”