Bryn

“So, my friends,” Rayburn bellows, “how you feel about flying?”

Well, that’s certainly in the running for most ominous thought of the week.

“Flying. As in, controlled falling,” Greyson frowns, arms crossed and chin jutting out mutinously. “Don’t think so.”

“Trust me, it’ll be fair fun,” Rayburn insists, throwing me a cheeky wink as he shoves the door open. It sticks, and he and Flynn have to give it a forceful wiggle and a kick.

“Your and my idea of fun are real different things,” Greyson mutters.

The door slides into the wall, revealing a dark, echoing space. Flynn switches on the lights, casting my shorter self in Greyson’s shadow.

“Don’t just stand there,” I grumble, poking Greyson in the back with my bokken as he continues to ignore me. His focus is on something else entirely. “Oh,” I say, and lick my dry lips. “What in sky are they?”

Sagging cobwebs hang from the ceiling, their owners long since curled up into empty husks, rolling across the grimy floor like tumbleweeds. Through the hazy light and dusty webs, there’s a mound of twisted limbs that seem to shift, sensing our presence.

“Your rides,” Rayburn grins.

“Excuse me?” I glance between the scrap metal to the towering man and back again. His gleeful smile unnerves me. I trail Greyson as he lifts a hand to touch the machine. It’s actually two machines. Two metal winged skeletons, stretching from wall to wall, tucked one behind the other in some strange parody of a hug.

“My father built these,” Greyson states more than asks. “They’re jetkites.” I don’t think he sees Rayburn nod, too busy running his hands reverently over the framework. The metal quivers under his touch.

“How do they work?” I ask. They look like a strong breeze will knock them over.

“They’ve got some smarts and will do most of the work. Propulsion engine runs on space dust or something. It’s real safe. I’ll show you when you’re strapped in, but first you’re going to need a bigger canister.” His blinding smile and bright eyes leave me nervous and I automatically take the air canister he hands me. The shape of it is familiar. Has it really only been seven days since we’d been outfitted with clothes, breathers and masks?

“And they’re safe? Outside’s safe?” I ask, envisioning my unprotected skin freezing off in layers, radiation boiling my brain, and my lungs being stripped out before I slam into the ground at … glitch, if my modes were working I’d know exactly how fast, so maybe it’s a good thing they aren’t. That’s if I don’t burn on re-entry.

“Perfectly safe. As long as you stay in the cockpit, avoid pressing anything you shouldn't, and miss the blades on your way up, you’ll be fine,” Flynn soothes. He’s climbing across the metal structures like a monkey, rocking back and forth to free them from their embrace.

“Hey,” Greyson murmurs, bumping my shoulder gently. “Trust the machines. They’re made for this. I’ve seen their designs in Pa’s lab.”

“But what about outside? The lack of oxygen? The freezing temperatures? The radiation?” I squeak and my lungs compress tight until I can barely breathe.

“You heard Flynn,” Greyson murmurs. “The jetkites are sealed and contain a few hours of oyxgen. The breathers are just in case.”

“Thanks,” I manage, even giving him a small smile, but the moment is interrupted when Rayburn gives Greyson his larger canister. I almost drop mine as I juggle my sword and attempt to pull up my mouth mask, struggling to remember which strap goes where. Do I even have it up the right way?

“Here.” Rayburn steps in close, taking the canister from me and deftly swapping it with the one strapped to my waist. He then takes the bokken and slides it into the belt loop next to it. I lower my arms and Rayburn carefully manoeuvres my mask from around my neck until it seals around my mouth and nose. I can still talk, but my voice is muffled.

I breathe through the mask and the air tastes flat.

“How snug are your modes? Air tight? They got to be.” Rayburn runs a finger around the edges of the headset and my hands snap up, keeping them firm against my face.

“They’ll be fine,” I muffle out, stepping back.

“Hardly. Here, I’ve some goggles for you.” Rayburn tosses a pair to us both. The goggles aren’t opaque, but they’re pretty scratched. I turn my back on the boys and slip off my modes, stowing them in my pocket and hastily snapping the goggles into place. They pull at my hair and I wiggle my scalp to ease the tightness. The prep area is too well lit and my eyes water without the protection of my modes.

“We’ve a meeting point in the Cyberinth so we can share info. Soon as you’re Active again, I’ll message you the link,” Rayburn says. Fear is twisting me up and I can’t return Rayburn’s smile. I just need to imagine this is just another quest, but this is in the real and what happens here actually counts. Glitch, if I die, what happens to me? Where do I go?

“It’s getting real late,” Greyson grouches, and I focus instead on his scowling mouth, the tension in his shoulders, how he’s bouncing on his toes. “And I don’t fancy falling in the dark.”

I can’t agree more. I’ve never been a huge fan of nighttime quests, how the quiet and gloom build to an awful tension that keeps growing and growing until I’m almost desperate for something to jump out and scream so at least it would be over.

“Grab one of the covers and bring it here,” Flynn says and gestures towards the machines. Once separated, they do look like they could fly, in as much as they’re shaped like featherless birds with a mounted head-like dome, flashing more and more as if the machines are waking up. Beneath them are long, narrow cockpits, like our old school coffins, but completely clear and not nearly as reinforced as I hoped. Stacked next to them are two neat piles of flexible metal sheeting. We each grab an edge and drag it up, draping it over the wingspan and securing it with clasps and buckles. I double-check every single one, but don’t mind when Rayburn checks, too.

We assemble the second in half the time and when we stand back there are two recognisable jetkites, humming with potential.

“Oi, boss, help me with this, would you?” calls Flynn from the hangar doors, head jerking for Rayburn to join him. The big man rolls his eyes but strides over, all lean muscle and full of confidence. I glance at Greyson and his bare skin looks pale around his breather and goggles. His chest is rising and falling too fast and I’m worried he’s about to pass out.

“Greyson?” Our eyes meet through scratched glass and his are wide, the pupils huge. “You okay?”

“No. Not really.” He laughs and bends forward, resting his hands on his knees. “Not a real fan of open spaces,” he admits. He nods towards the massive hangar doors that separate us from the airlock. I hadn’t thought of that. I hesitate just a moment before resting my hand on his shoulder.

“You said trust the equipment. Your father made these. Trust in him, yeah? Once we’re out there, it’ll be okay.”

“She’s right, sweetheart. You’ll be okay,” Greyson’s Ma says. I hadn’t seen her or the rest of Rayburn’s crew arrive. Hannah swoops in and hugs him like she’s never going to see him again. Maybe she won’t. I ignore the hushed conversation and instead make sure my canister and breather are attached properly. Then I think of what we’re about to do and check it all over again.

“Hey,” Juni says, arm wrapping around my shoulders. “You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Totally. You’re clever and strong, and you’re not alone.”

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I glance towards Greyson. “I know.”

“Him too, but I meant this,” she taps the hilt of the bokken. “Have you named it yet?”

“Should I?”

“All great swords have a name.”

I stroke a finger across the satiny wood. Col had created something beautiful, and I was still delighted it was mine to keep.

“Truthseeker. Is that okay?”

“It suits it. May it serve you well.”

“Thanks, Juni,” and I hug her close. “For everything.”

“Okay, my friends. Show time!” Rayburn declares, with an eager clap of his hands. “Strap in and I’ll run you through it.”

Greyson’s ma isn’t going to let go, and neither is Greyson, but they eventually shake each other loose and Greyson steps up beside me, valiantly keeping his wet eyes on the jetkites rather than his mother, who’s crying and smiling behind us.

“Good luck,” I tell him, heart racing.

“You, too.” Greyson brushes a patch of bare skin on my cheek with a gloved thumb and I duck away, skin flushed hot.

“This is going to be spectacular!” Flynn shouts. “Just you see. I’m truly jealous of you both!” Which only proves how nutty he actually is.

Rayburn rolls his eyes at the man and gestures me towards the jetkite at the back. Reaching out, the jetkite purrs beneath my hand and the metal airframe is warm.

“How do I get in?” I shuffle under one of its wings, crouched over, and keep a hand on the hilt of my sword so the tip doesn’t drag across the ground. Rayburn follows me on his knees and his hair brushes the metal. He shows me the cradle within its torso, a series of thick, metal fibre straps within the semi-rigid shell of the cockpit. I crawl in, lying on my belly and straightening my legs out behind me, my face hovering just off the ground. It seals me in with a hiss.

“Grab those controls,” Rayburn instructs, his voice sounding dull through the shell, and I reach forward, my fingers creaking inside the leather gloves. He talks me through how to strap myself in securely, and when I’m done the straps tighten further automatically. It’s like the jetkite is hugging me.

“Pull back to gain altitude, push forward to go down, lean left to go left.”

“And right to go right,” I conclude.

“Yup, easy-peasy.”

“Is this really safe?” I ask, my heart pounding, and I strain to look at Rayburn. I spot movement behind him. The Admin, and what looks like half the Undercamp community, have arrived at some point, lining the walls, waiting. Their mouths are hidden beneath breathing masks. I’ve never seen so many eyes in my life.

Rayburn leans closer, resting on one hand as he presses the other on the outer shell.

“Trust me, Bryn, you’ll be as safe as houses!”

“What’s that even mean?” Greyson shouts in front of me, voice a little high. “How are houses glitching safe?”

Juni has helped strap him in and all I can see are his feet through the cockpit walls.

“You’ll be fine,” Rayburn promises and he pulls away, shouting, “Open her up, Col!”

My world has narrowed to Greyson’s jetkite in front of me, the bustle of movement around me blurring into incomprehensible shapes and sounds.

A loud, clanking rumble cuts through the haze as the wall splits straight down the middle, rolling open on huge tracks and casting light across the floor. The external dock seems too flimsy to keep all that space out.

Greyson? I send fearfully, but of course he doesn’t reply. My modes are in my jacket pocket, hopefully not getting squashed by Truthseeker, and whatever happens next, whether I fly or fall, I’m alone. My whimper is drowned out beneath the cheers from the Undercampers. The jetkite twitches around me, as if alive. I think of Greyson’s pet cat and the thought that this machine has a mind of its own is a comfort. I’m not alone after all.

“Please, don’t let me die,” I beg it, and the straps around my waist tighten fractionally. Perhaps I imagine it, but I don’t care.

The ground beneath us hums. I jolt forward, the whole floor a giant conveyor belt, sending us out into open space. I really, really, really don’t want to do this. I’ve changed my mind. This place isn’t so bad. Get me off this thing!

We pause briefly in the airlock and the doors seal shut behind us. Rayburn and his team press their faces against the window. The jetkite trembles when the air is sucked from the room. Someone, I think Juni, waves at me through the glass.

The airlock opens to a blinding brightness. Greyson’s jetkite is a silhouetted shape in front of me that looks too weak to carry his weight, let alone fly.

He disappears first. There one moment, then poof! What about the engine blades? Will we get sucked in? Why hadn’t I thought to ask? I clench the controls until my knuckles burn and I’m hiccupping as I heave in breath after breath. The edge grows closer and closer and I squeeze my eyes shut, screaming as I finally drop over. A moment of free fall, barely that, but it’s long enough. I stop screaming, stop breathing, stop existing, and then the jet-propelled jetkite is shooting up, its tiny propulsion unit humming. I crack open an eyelid.

Oh. Oh, wow.

I’ve seen Old Earth before, the sunlight splashing across clouds and oceans, yet beyond it all, too large to really comprehend, is an immense space that stretches out forever, Old Earth set in the twinkling backdrop like a heavy, glass bauble. The clouds are like veils across a slowly spinning world, the burnt orange peeking through the lace. Old Earth is like a flickering beacon.

Across the Earth a dark shadow moves. The space station. A massive blade sweeps between me and the rest of the universe. It’s cold, despite the jetkite’s insulation. My breath puffs white and my skin prickles with goosebumps.

Flying is surprisingly instinctual, as if the games I’d played in the Cyberinth have been training for this moment, though in the Quest Realm I’d been riding dragons. I shift where I want to go and the jetkite does everything else, adjusting for the turbulence that makes the whole jetkite shake. I gain confidence and manipulate the jetkite to face towards the space station. I inhale sharply.

I’ve never seen pictures or vids of the Triumph from the outside, and it’s nothing like how I imagined. Shaped like a sunflower seed, it’s divided in half by a massive wheel. Mounted along the outer rim are three blades rotating like a force field between the lower and upper portions of the station.

The levels of the Triumph station I’d lived in all my life are taller than I thought and it takes me a moment to realise there are nine levels, not eight. The levels of Undercamp are a mirror image. The top level can’t have been bigger than my old school and, as I shift to the right, light bounces off glass, shimmering like water. It’s a viewing platform. I imagine the Guardian, gazing down on the world we’ve left behind.

From my visits to Levels Seven and Eight, I thought the outside of the station would be just like them, all higgledy-piggledy, as more sections are tacked on as the station keeps expanding, but it’s all so regular! Besides the windows at the very top, every other level is windowless, curved metal walls running neatly as far as I can see. Large stencilled letters and numbers decorate its side in a faded and unfamiliar font so I can’t work out what it says.

I want to record it, every bit of the space station I was born in, every inch of the sweeping Earth I’ve never touched, every bounce and every tremble of flight. It’s like this is all happening to someone else and I want to share it, prove to myself this is really happening, right here and now. It hurts knowing this moment will be lost forever and I’ll never get to experience it again.

Greyson’s above me and I wave enthusiastically before his jetkite jerks into a sharp turn. I hope he’s okay, but I can’t stop crowing with delight. How could I’ve ever been afraid of this?

That’s because I forgot the engine blades.

Greyson gets closer and closer to the blades, my heart in my throat, until he hits the throttle and shoots through like a hummingbird. Then it’s my turn. I edge forward, until the blades’ substructure are right in front of me.

“Please don’t let me down,” I whisper. Closer, closer, faster, faster, and I swear I black out for a second, blood pounding in my head, but then I’m through.

Greyson swoops close and points towards Level Four. Each level has a narrow walkway running around it, as if people can gain outside access. Or, in our case, the inside. The walkway around Level Four widens into a large platform, the external airlock doors already open as if we’re expected.

“You first!” I shout, even though he can’t hear me. He gives me a salute and angles his jetkite down. I hold my breath as he makes a series of little dives before he lands, hard, sliding across the surface and into the dock.

“Way to make it look easy,” I mutter. I push the levers down and drop, automatically pulling back on them. My heart in my throat, I repeat the action, jerking and jolting towards the platform until I land with a head-snapping thud. Like magic, the doors creep shut behind me, shutting out the light from the setting sun until it’s almost too dark to see. After a second, internal lights flicker on.

“Wait,” Greyson signs to me (and glitch, I’m glad he taught me that one) and my jetkite trembles as air is pumped into the airlock. He’s out of his cockpit before I can even unstrap myself. “Alright?” Greyson asks. The jetkite releases me from my straps and I wiggle free, breathless, exhilarated, and sincerely relieved we’re still alive.

“That could’ve been worse,” I say. He laughs, sweeping me up into his arms and my feet swing off the ground. I blush, feeling his body pressed snug against my own, and my heart pounds for a different reason. Soon as he puts me down, I take a step back, but I’m grinning, too.

“So how come this place was waiting for us?” I ask, gesturing towards the closed doors behind us.

“Dunno. Maybe cos of these.” Greyson holds out a rubber band like the one Rayburn wears. Instead of words printed along one side, there’s a solid chip set in the middle. He jiggles the band until I take it off him. “Put it on. It’s an artificial cyberinth chip.” He’s wearing one, too, and I can’t put mine on fast enough. He shows me how to sync it with my dormant chip and it forms a connection with the modes still in my pocket.

“It provides access without being tracked. Your friends can’t contact you, but you can reach them. Just leave the link open for them, okay?”

“Thanks, Greyson.” I hesitate and then reach out to squeeze his hand. We’re both still wearing gloves, but it’s intimate. More intimate than Flynn’s grappling or Juni braiding my hair. I let go and move away before I make more of a fool of myself.

We secure both jetkites as best we can and they power down with an almost regretful hum.

“So the air’s safe to breathe?” I double-check and Greyson assures me by pulling off his goggles and breather and taking a huge deep lungful.

“Safe as houses.”

“That still doesn’t make much sense,” I grumble. I’m quick to follow his lead, tugging off my goggles, my hair getting caught briefly in the straps, and I drop them to the floor, digging out my modes. Slipping them on, I check the time, where we are, and whether I’m physically compromised. Feeling connected eases the last of the tension in my chest.

We’re home again, yet in the back of my mind a little thought nags.

In our station of eight levels, there’s a ninth.

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