"It will never fly!" Lisa laughed, as Bobo spun old rusty fan blades, trying to start the propeller of a poorly built human-size plane imitation.

"It will, you will see, and you will fly with me. We will go over the mountain and find the Red Five," said Bobo, smiling. He wiped his apple-red nose, leaving a large black oil stain. Lisa giggled.

"Ha! Red Five is a fairytale," Lisa said. "And now you have oil all over your silly face."

Bobo frowned.

"Red Five is real! They will come, and they will free us from the Dome soldiers, and they will bring magical potions to heal mama! I know it, look, I showed you this," Bobo took out a red piece of cloth. "It's from Red Five! And the wind brought it here, to me."

"Years ago, Bobo. It's just a cloth. You are so naive. No one will help us. Come, we have to go and gather metal, so the soldiers will give us food. Your mama needs food, not some stories."

Bobo spun the propeller vigorously. Finally, it made a loud noise, as if someone popped a balloon inside, and coughed out a black thick cloud of smoke. 

Bobo lowered his hands, almost crying.

Bobo was thirteen, at this age kids in the scrap villages usually were required to work double shifts. All his free time he spent trying to fix an old drone corpse.

Lisa was twelve, she lived next to Bobo's family in a communal hut among ten other villagers. Her parents died a few years ago and now she had to work double shifts too.

They were kids and had nothing except each other and their dreams. Born in the world of snow and ice, far outside any warm Dome City filled with riches and trees, they had to grow up too early.

...

"It's not spinning!" Said Bobo, trying to dig a large metal cylinder out of snow. Old man Whaley, a wrinkly elder villager, and Bobo's friend drove a steel rod into a block of ice.

They were working in the open field, snow as far as they could see. The maps indicated it was a sea once, before the Wars of Machines and the Colds. Old man Whaley even told Bobo and Lisa about fish. It still might be there, miles deep, frozen and fresh, but out of reach. Everything they could find was plane sheathings, chunks of metal, and if lucky, rusty control panels from the ancient machines.

"You will need more pressure, more fire inside. Don't waste oil. Instead - use the wind," said old man Whaley.

"The wind?"

"Yes, the winds here are strong, you can go to the ice hill, and just catch the wind under the wing."

Bobo finally retrieved the cylinder and threw it in his bag.

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"Interesting. But can the wind pick up metal?"

"Yes and no. Remove all the heavy parts, leave only wings and frames," old man Whaley pushed the rod, and a chunk of ice cracked in half, revealing a red copper plate. "Then the wind will pick you up and carry the wings, like this," he held out his palm and blew under it, slightly raising the hand. Bobo followed his steamy breath, fascinated.

"Wow. But if I fall?"

"Well, snow is soft, it will catch you. But you need to work with wings, so that you can control the plane, left and right," old man Whaley turned his palm from side to side.

"Hey!" A cold metallic voice broke the conversation. A soldier in a white parka and black warming mask came closer. "Get back to work, or your shifts will be annulled."

Old man Whaley raised his hands as if he was surrendering. Bobo smiled, and turned to a metal stick, protruding out of ice.

...

"Whaley told me. Now I am sure it will work! Can you believe it, mama?" Bobo, in his oversized sweater, sat at the head of his mother's bed. She wasn't feeling well again, her cheeks sunk and her eyes were red and tired. However, she smiled anyway.

"It's wonderful, Bobo. But is it dangerous?"

"I won't fly high, the wind will carry me close to the ground, and if I fall, the snow will cover me, like a blanket!" Bobo smiled and handed his mother a spoonful of hot steaming soup.

"Be careful, Bobo. Snow can be cold," the mother said, breathing heavily.

"Don't worry, mama. I will be careful, and then I'll find Red Five, and ask them to help us. They can get rid of those soldiers, and bring us food," said Bobo, filling the spoon. "They can cure you."

Bobo's mother ate one more spoon, smiled again, and sunk back on the bed.

"Try to sleep now, mama. I love you," said Bobo, putting an empty bowl aside.

...

That evening, after finishing his second shift and receiving a humble portion of bread and soup powder, Bobo sneaked out of his shack. He walked the snowy trail through the scrap village and finally reached a small ice hill.

On the other side of that hill was a hollow. Bobo found it two years ago and turned it into his fortress. It wasn't much, a few plastic crates and a metal bench next to a fireplace. But for a kid with imagination, it was a whole kingdom. The crown jewel of it was a small drone Bobo stumbled upon two months ago. 

The Dome Officers demanded any metal found on the premises to be handed over to them, but Bobo hid it and carried it here during the night. No one knew about his discovery except Lisa, mama, and old man Whaley.

Bobo slid down the hill and jumped into the hollow.

Fire sticks spat out a few sparks, and a weak blue fire illuminated the surroundings. Bobo looked at the drone. It had many dents and round holes from bullets and lasers. But the propeller and the engine were still functioning. 

Bobo tried to revive the motor, but there wasn't enough fuel and oil to fill it. Risking his life, he stole a can from the soldiers. If only mama knew it, she would have probably been so angry. But now the oil was gone and the engine still wasn't working.

Bobo took out a piece of red cloth.

Aside from the old drone, it was his most prized possession. Nothing special, an ordinary red synthetic fabric worth nothing. But for Bobo, it became a symbol of freedom. Just like the legend of Red Five had for many kids. 

A giant red flying station, with a brave team of free riders, cruising the world and helping those in need. For Bobo, it wasn't a fairytale. He knew it was true. It must have been.

He put the red cloth back and picked up a screwdriver.

"Now, I have some work to do," he said with a smile.

For the next two weeks, he came to the hollow and worked on the drone. He removed all the heavy pieces, the engine, and the propeller. Soon the drone began to look like a metal bird skeleton. Only wings were left intact. Bobo attached a plastic wheel and a simple cogwheel so that when he turned the wheel, the flaps of the wings moved up and down.

Lisa visited from time to time, watching him and helping if needed.

"I don't understand it. You worked so hard to rebuild it, and now you are removing everything. This is silly," she said once.

"Trust me. It will fly," Bobo smiled back.