“Aether signal reported. Moving at three hundred and seventy knots, angels twenty…same trajectory. It’s no mistake.”

“Rodger,” Elliot reported. “Southern Four, moving to intercept.”

He flew out of his canvas deck chair, pulling on the rest of his flight suit over his shoulders as he signalled to the skeleton crew to wind it up. They too sprang up like pages of a pop-up book as Elliot crossed the stunted airstrip: blue sky, little wind, perfect conditions for such a take-off.

He dropped into the cockpit and flicked the radio switch to a torrent of chatter. Strapping in, he reported his presence and awaited instructions.

Take off. Effective immediately. Weapons hot.

“Senior Captain Elliot Maxwell, this is Targeteer Lieutenant James Frenniks. I am your eyes, over.”

“Senior Captain to Targeteer Lieutenant. I am your wings. Confirm target ETA to checkpoint six, over.”

“Target ETA is seven minutes to checkpoint six. I recommend immediate take-off, over.”

Elliot grabbed the handle above his head and locked the canopy closed. “One step ahead of you, Lieuenant, over and out.”

The maintenance crew stepped back as Elliot gave the thumbs up. The shooter waved his hands above his head and Elliot gave his flaps a last check. An index finger circling in the air permitted him to start his engine until a cross above the shooter’s head told him the chocks under his landing gear had been removed. The shooter stepped out of the way, swinging a fist from above his head and releasing it to his right flank; unlock the wings, and Elliot did so with a thunk from outside his canopy.

All set, and the shooter stepped out of the way, tapping the tarmac and flinging his other arm forward. Elliot let his engines rip and watched from his peripherals as metal wings reared their arches before pounding the tarmac with wind and Aether. That small moment of airtime was enough to propel him forward, far enough for another great flap of the wings to lift him even higher.

He bobbed up and down, each time gaining altitude until he was high enough to clear the tree line.

“Wings to eyes, we have lift-off, requesting update on target position, over,” Elliot asked, placing his clipboard map on his left thigh.

“This is eyes to wings, target is two klicks past point two and is deviating at bearing three-five-five from estimated heading towards point three, over.”

“Rodger eyes, wings moving to position, over,” Elliot replied as he marked the target's approximate location on his map. Picking up speed he swept his surroundings. At this distance, the spy plane would barely be a dot silhouetted against blue, hard to spot even without its magic.

“This is TOC to all units, target is reaching checkpoint three. Ambient Aether cut-off in t-minus ten, nine, eight, seven…”

Elliot clutched the yoke with his right hand and kept his left on the throttle, straining to catch anything in the blue distance.

“Three, two, one….”

Elliot felt nothing change, not even the winds switch directions. The stillness remained as he kept the dials on his instrument panel steady.

“Atmospheric Aether drop confirmed…visual on target confirmed! Magic is failing!”

Elliot allowed himself a moment to sigh, grip weakening on his handles.

“TOC to all units, target breaking south. All Southern units move to intercept.”

Elliot groaned.

“Eyes to wings, confirm, eyes to wings,” the Targeteer Lieutenant called, interrupting the TOC’s radio transmissions.

“Wings to eyes, copy, requesting BRAA call.”

“Bandit at bearing one-nine-two, cold, range six klicks at angels twenty-two and ascending.”

“Copy, moving to intercept, over and out.”

Elliot pushed his throttle forward with his left hand and pulled the lever on his right, locking his wings into place as he surged forward, gaining speed and altitude as he flew.

The radio chatter continued in the background, tactical operations centre doling intel and orders by the second. Southern two and three were closest before him. He checked his watch, expecting a call soon.

“Southern Three to TOC, eyes on bandit, moving to engage, over.”

“TOC to Southern Three, copy. Reminder, weapons free, over.”

“Copy, over and out.”

“Wings to eyes, confirm,” Elliot called.

“Copy, eyes to wings, over.”

“Update on Southern Three, over.”

“Copy…Southern Three is five hundred metres out on target’s six. Target pulling evasive manoeuvres, over.”

“Copy eyes, keep ‘em coming, over and out.”

“Rodger.”

Elliot kept an eye on his map, tracing his flight path with his imagination. He raised his head, working the angles over in his mind until he spotted something in the distance.

“Southern Two to TOC, visual on bandit.”

“Southern Four to TOC, visual on bandit,” Elliot repeated as he watched two specs dancing in the distance. Never mind evasive manoeuvres; the chase had evolved into a dogfight, with the two spinning their wings into a two circle.

“Wings to eyes, confirm, is it just me or are they merging?”

“Eyes to wings…it seems that way. Shit,” the Lieutenant hissed through his teeth. “Targeteer Lieutenant Frenniks, bandit is armed, I repeated bandit is—”

Elliot found the rest of his targeteer’s sentence redundant in that next moment as one of the specks flashed, black smoke trailing it as it began to bleed its altitude.

“Southern Four to TOC, Southern Two is going down, I repeat, Southern Two is going down.”

“TOC to Southern Two, status. TOC to Southern Two.”

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“Southern Two…ejecting.”

A smaller silhouette parted from the sinking fighter, bursting into a canopy as Elliot roared past.

“Southern Four moving to engage,” Elliot reported, chasing the bandit’s six.

“The hell do you mean they’re not obeying the evacuation order?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Marie clarified, “not even the General can explain it. As far as he’s concerned he’s gotten his end of the bargain.”

Evalyn’s brow furrowed, and she scratched her scalp; neglected of a wash for a day or two too long. She let out a guttural sigh, dragging it out as Marie reciprocated with an enervated nod. Alarm bells were ringing, and Sidos had just found itself infiltrated by another tumour, but both women were too tired to exert any sense of panic.

“They’re getting orders from this…network, aren’t they?” Evalyn guessed, only to receive a shrug.

“I’d assume so. Seeing what happened at the capital, it clicked for me,” Marie said, stifling a yawn as she poured herself a glass of water, droplets of condensation spilling over into the empty ashtray. “Their goal…at least, in this case, is to see Sidos fall into disarray.”

“In this case?”

Elvera nodded. “If what Trysha Kepila, that Witch you snagged, is to be believed…,” she gulped down the glass of cold water and sighed, “then this is just one project, likely aimed at tearing the alliance apart. Excala’s on its knees in more ways than one, so putting Sidos down in the dirt would hurt both countries in one go. Who’s been wanting to see the alliance break apart? Vesmos."

Marie played with the rim of the glass, whirling her finger along it. "The cracks were already there, they just have the resources to force them open.”

“But those…Aether destruction machines—”

“Atmospheric Aether nullifiers.”

“Whatever…those things weren’t part of the cracks to begin with. They were an unrelated researcher doing unrelated work in God knows what backwater country.”

Marie pursed her lips. “Weirder things happen, and for all we know, they knew about this researcher, and this was their plan from the start. Whether the researcher tattling on them and running away was part of the plan or not, it still worked in their favour.”

“And now they’re keeping some 42nd and H.O.A. units in their back pocket too?”

“That or General Treeman is lying through his teeth,” Marie suggested as dramatically as one would order a breakfast sandwich. Sadly, all Oswald felt comfortable offering her in the smoking room was said pitcher of water.

“And what do you think the chances of that are?”

“Can’t say for certain,” the Lieutenant-General said. “But whether it be genuine ideological differences or…you know, jealousy, Treeman was never fond of your father’s policies.”

“So, you don’t think he means to start a war?”

“No, I don’t think so. But either way, Fault—. The government’s forces are in for a hell of a firefight.”

“Tell me parliament still has some H.O.A. regiment on our side,” Evalyn pleaded. As much respect as she could put on the 42nd, it was the H.O.A. units that would determine the outcome.

“Some haven’t defected, as well as the police units. But the ones who have, are veteran companies; they can’t be taken lightly, less so by police in the older models."

Which is where Evalyn would come in. Clear the way of 42nd or H.O.A., whichever was causing more of an issue. “And you can guarantee they won’t detonate their bombs while we’re trying to get there.”

“I can’t. For all we know there could be a plane circling the mountains as we speak. It’s why we’re in a rush and Sidos is willing to pay you triple.”

“Right,” Evalyn nodded. “Give me a moment.”

Her cheek’s marking shone a brilliant gold, and in place of her arm, a gauntlet protruded from her deltoid and worked the door handle, flinging the door open. The gauntlet split into three as she caught the trio under her charge by the scruff and gave them a good glare. Miraculously lined up in order of height, it was as though she was presenting the three to Marie.

Alis, rather pathetically, gave Marie a salute despite the situation, while all Iris could offer was a meek wave to her god-grandmother. She nodded at them both, then gave a quick ‘nice to meet you’ to the Beak girl in the middle.

“Iris?” Evalyn asked. “What do you want to do?”

Geverde’s contracts and her own interests had now coincided, and she could see the conflict flash across the girl’s face. Evalyn didn’t blame her; she would be the first to advocate for the girl to be taken off the contract.

So she moved onto the boy but spoke instead to Marie. “What’s Alis’s place in all of this.”

Marie shrugged. “Things have been moving too fast, so he’s still an informant.”

“And what if I get him to come along?”

“Come along?” Marie repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. He can hold his own, can’t you?”

Alis nodded, smelling a fight.

“See?”

“What’s brought this on?” Marie asked.

“Well, what else is he going to do?”

“That’s for Spec Ops to decide. Come on Eva, I thought you were jealous of the kid.”

“Jeal—what would I be jealous about?!”

Marie flicked her eyes in Iris’s direction, curling Evalyn’s mouth into a pointed frown. “I’m just considering the kid’s future. He’s got those knuckle-dusters, he wants a fight and he can fight. Doesn’t like Vesmos to boot.”

“You realise you’re going to be paying him, right? He’s not a Wizard, doesn’t pose Geverde enough of a threat to appease.”

Evalyn’s head sagged at the thought, and she ground her molars against each other until she put her grievances to rest. “Fine. I’ll pay him.”

Marie shrugged. “Sure. But he signed a contract with us, whatever he signs with you doesn’t nullify that.”

“What about me?” a tepid voice asked, interjecting the barter. The two women turned to Crestana, arms staunchly to her side. Evalyn sighed, knowing she would voice her protest sooner or later.

“I’m sorry Crestana—”

“I could destroy the bombs.”

“They run off Aether, yes,” Marie started, “but your magic can’t destroy magic patterns. If it could, Evalyn wouldn’t be a Witch anymore.”

“And even if you could buy us time to destroy it, we don’t know your effect’s range, how much time we’d have, and on and on. Plus, if that bomb goes off, we lose our magic and need to stay in cover. But you die, plain and simple.”

She felt bad for the onslaught from two parties, one of which the young girl wasn’t familiar with, but gentle parenting wasn’t something she could afford. Iris maybe, but Crestana wasn’t her child. By law, what she did with herself wasn’t her decision to make in the first place.

The same went for Alis, but he was a special case.

“Sorry Crestana, you’re going to have to wait here.”

The girl nodded, admitting defeat, and no one interjected.

“When are troops moving in?”

“Tonight. Regardless of the situation.”

Evalyn nodded, then turned to Iris. “Make your decision soon.”

Crestana couldn’t move her feet. She’d forced them as far forward as it took to get out of the women’s sight, but any further and she was stumped.

“What’s wrong?” Iris asked after she’d taken a few steps further than Crestana. The Beak girl imagined her knuckles white, unanswered determination curling around the folds of her clothes.

“What are you going to do, Iris?”

She sounded more upset about it than the person in question. For her, it was easy; the decision had been made with herself having no say in it.

“I don’t know,” Iris replied, the girl’s short answer cutting off before Crestana was satisfied, not that she knew what would satiate the want she couldn’t even put into words. “I can’t decide.”

Crestana kept her eyes on the floor as Alis caught on to the conversation. He wouldn’t understand, and his confusion would only make her more nervous. Being around those two sometimes made her feel crazy for being normal.

“It’s not fair,” she croaked, her voice box sputtering as it tried to translate her mousy signal.

“It’s not fair?” Iris repeated. “Do you want to go?”

Crestana’s heart sagged.

“It’s dangerous. Too dangerous to be fun," she said.

“I get you might be worried about us, but it isn’t safe."

“You’re both children!” she screamed, voice box crackling at the sudden volume it had never dealt with before. Not only it, but the two before her froze in shock.

“Crestana? What’s wrong—”

“Don’t lecture me about it being dangerous. Both of you are…messed up in the head. Don’t you get that? This isn’t normal, none of this is normal and yet you’re just…going along with it.”

Her hands trembled, making something of the excess Aether trickling into her body.

“And I have to wait here for you idiots, just hoping you come back…how is that fair?”

“I don’t know if it’s fair or not, but it’s just how things worked out.”

“Well then, it’s wrong! Somewhere along the line, something went wrong! How do you justify any of this, huh? You both grew up like this, you can’t see what’s wrong with it!”

“There’s…not much I can do about it, Crestana. It’s who I am. Right, Iris?”

They both turned to the little rabbit, whose pursed lips Crestana took as a sign she couldn’t quite agree. Iris’s downturned eyes softened, quivering in their sockets.

“It doesn’t matter. Not at times like this.” The white rabbit smiled. “Sorry, Crestana. I know it’s not fair, and sometimes I see what you mean. But…I don’t know. It’s just…how things are.”

Iris brought the pained expression to bear, severing the final thread of a fraying cord in Crestana’s chest.

“Iris.”

The voice came from behind them; what had been stern moments before had become sombre. Crestana turned to find Evalyn rounding the hallway’s corner. Her eyebrows were still crossed like knitting needles, but she could instinctively tell Mrs Hardridge wasn’t looking for a fight.

“What is it?” Iris asked. “Mum?”

“…I just got word. Your father’s in the air. I just thought you should know that.”

Crestana caught the smile fade on Iris’s face.

Being born in it. Being surrounded by it. Maybe she was wrong to assume it made things easier.