Iris’s legs were tired of swinging. She had sat in Elvera’s office watching the sky through the windows get darker, darker, darker, and darker. Elvera had not changed in the slightest, her body in a perpetual state of working the typewriter, line after line. Occasionally she would stamp a document, even steal a sheepish glance at Iris. A glance she would take back the moment Iris turned to look.
With Evalyn in Sidos and Elliot choosing to cut his holiday a couple of days short, Iris was left in the hands of Elvera whenever Elliot was on shift. When every possible guardian had some sort of military connection, it was hard to find a caretaker when all hell broke loose. To Iris, it didn’t look it, but Elvera had been busy in her own way.
After a while of staring at every detail dotting the room’s metal walls, Elvera stretched her arms high above her head, bringing an end to her work. She pushed herself away from her desk and stood up, stretching her arms outwards, then behind, then bent down. Iris watched quizzically as she acted the process out, and after a few moments, Elvera ran out of stretching methods. Finally facing the small, silver elephant in the room, she walked over to her.
“Sorry I made you wait so long, it’s been busy recently,” she said as she rustled the girl’s hair. “Maybe the best thing about you learning to fight is that you can work with Evalyn instead of being babysat all day.”
…
“Not that I don’t enjoy it! Evalyn will be back soon anyway.”
Elvera gave up on talking to herself. It seemed as though an anxiousness wouldn’t leave her.
“We’ve got a bit of time before Elliot gets off his shift. What should we do first?”
At Iris’s request, the pair made their way up the many levels of the mobile fortress until they reached the control tower’s roof. Leaning against the railing, they felt the gentle breeze guide their thoughts over the edge. Small figures ran up and down the runways, performing maintenance and routine checks. This time of day was the closest to ‘closing time’ the ship had, as day shifts changed hands to night shifts, there was a semblance of a feeling the day was over. It was especially quiet as the sun slowly fell over the horizon, turning the shimmering daylight into a soft, uneven purple.
“Do you like it with Evalyn?” Elvera asked. Iris nodded, not feeling the need to explain why, but attempting to anyway.
“She’s weird.” Elvera smiled at the conclusion.
“I guess she is. Then again, all first-time parents are. It’s just that usually their children aren’t old enough to notice.” She chuckled, realising something. “I wonder why I call her your parent. Guardian’s technically the right word. I guess I just like the sound of it, even if the meaning barely changes.”
Iris looked up at Elvera as she swung her body left and right.
“Are you, her parent?”
“Hm? Ah, uhm. Ha, huh, no. No, I’m not,” Elvera stammered. “I met her when she was eighteen. I’m something called her godmother.”
“What’s that?”
“The person who’s supposed to take care of a child if something happens to both parents. I never needed to fulfil that role, but sometimes I wish I had.”
“Why?”
“Well…I guess I regret not being there for her when she needed me. We’re still making up for lost time, so I don’t want to make that mistake with you,” she said, her voice trailing off. They found each other’s eyes and Elvera smiled awkwardly.
The moment was shattered as sirens began to wail. The sound’s volume was exponential, and Iris, at first, was unable to distinguish it from the sound of working, but Elvera’s ears perked up as if it was instinct.
“Scramble sirens,” she said. She tore herself away from the railing, beckoning Iris to follow. She flicked her wrist towards her face and checked her watch.
“Six twenty-nine, he was about to go off shift as well.”
Elliot found himself running onto the asphalt not moments after he had fitted all his gear. His ride was already waiting for him, and he climbed the ladder into the cockpit as if it was second nature.
“All systems check, flaps are okay, canopy clear. Warper 1 ready for taxi.”
“Warper 2 ready for taxi.”
“Control to Warper, you are cleared for catapult taxi. Follow bearing one six nine, altitude one thousand metres, speed four fifty knots. Estimated intercept time next zero two three. Confirm.”
“Rodger, control tower.”
“Copy, control tower.
Elliot adjusted the pedals with his feet as the jet slowly began to ease forward with the soft, foreboding rumble of the engines. He turned right and fell in line next to his wingman. They gave each other a thumbs-up before returning their eyes to the runway. A stretch of black contrasted with the purple sky, in front of them an abrupt drop.
In but a few moments, the crew beneath their aircraft had run circles around them like bees, fully preparing them for their launch. Several thumbs up later, the control tower chimed in with their report of the skies.
“Warper you are cleared for take-off.”
Elliot felt his seat begin to rumble as they controlled their engines. The Aether flowed all around them, becoming pure propellant along the back edge of the wings. With the wave of the catapult operator’s hand, Elliot felt his entire body melt into his seat as he was thrown forward. Less than a second, and the several-ton machines were travelling at breakneck speeds.
“Warper, be advised, Francis 1 and 2 are heading bearing one four seven at two fifty knots, altitude six hundred metres. Intercept at next one three, over.”
“Copy, over and out,” Elliot said.
“What do you think it is?” his wingman asked.
“Can’t be much of a mystery if Deity division is tracking it. Probably just another faulty radio.”
“If Francis team is thirteen minutes out, two fifty, from Excala air base…that’s the coast is it not?”
“You think it’s a seaplane?”
“At that approach speed and altitude, I’d bet they’re not chasing anything military.”
“Hm…clear comms.”
“Rodger.”
Francis. If a call sign was a human name, the pilots were Spirits. Long gone were the days in which humans and Spirits piloted the same aircraft simultaneously. Then again, fewer lives risked meant more lives saved.
Minutes felt like moments in the air, and soon enough, ten minutes had passed on Elliot’s watch.
“Warper 1 and 2, descend to three hundred metres and one four five knots, maintain current heading. Switch to Excala air base radio frequency channel one zero six point four two, over.”
“Copy, over and out.”
Elliot pressed his yoke downwards as he eased on the throttle, slowing himself down to the target’s speed. Below him, he saw grass fields turn urban as he raced over the outskirts of Excala city.
“This is Warper 1 attempting radio contact with Excala air base channel one zero six point four two, please respond.”
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Not a moment later, Elliot received a reply.
“This is Excala air base control tower, confirming radio contact. The new time of intercept next zero two. Francis has already made contact and is attempting to reach the vehicle on civilian channel one four nine point three three, over.”
Elliot tuned his second radio as the seaboard came into view. Already, the two aircraft codenamed Francis were trying to gain contact.
“Unknown aircraft, please respond to our radio signal. If you do not respond before entering harbour airspace, you will be shot down. I repeat, unknown aircraft....”
As Elliot listened to Francis one’s declarations, he and his wingman approached the scene proper.
“Warper 2 to command, closing in on bogie aircraft.”
“Rodger Warper 2, proceed with caution.”
“Warper 2 to Francis team, currently approaching your location from bearing one six nine descending, please confirm.”
“Francis 2 to Warper team, we see you.”
Elliot pressured the yoke down until he fell behind the massive wings of the aircraft. A seaplane that, if armed, could be classified as Higher Order Armour. A wingspan eclipsing that of all four present fighters combined allowed the titanic curved hull the lift it needed to span oceans. Six turbines, each blade bigger than Elliot himself created ungodly sounds that penetrated his canopy. Much like other machines of its calibre, the welded and riveted sheet metal, the brutish design of function over form and the sheer size were simply overwhelming, even if it reached not even a fraction of the Steel Whale or Citadel.
“Warper team moving up to the cockpit,” Elliot announced as he and his wingman left the two fighters behind to continue attempting radio communications. He eased on the throttle as his aircraft steadily moved past the hulking aeroplane. The hull was completely sealed, so no doubt this was a mail plane. In Elliot’s understanding, aircraft like this delivered loads north across the continent, saving ships from circumnavigating the entire landmass as well as skipping a perilous pass through the mountains.
Then why was it here? From Sidos to Geverde, the coast was the domain of a freighter.
As Elliot approached the cockpit, he squinted through the glass windows, tiny compared to the rest of the aircraft. He could make out pilots. Their silhouettes were clearly at the helm.
“Warper 1, can confirm pilots are still conscious, over.”
“Copy.”
Flying this close to such a large aircraft for too long was dangerous, it was understandable why most were minding their spacing, yet Elliot decided he was bored waiting.
Inch by inch, he closed the distance between himself and the bogie, the metal tips of his wings too close for comfort by most sane measurements. Even if such a massive plane couldn’t notice fly-like fighters before, one so close had no chance of going unnoticed. Closer and closer he got until he could make out the faces of the pilots themselves.
“Warper one, you’re too close to the aircraft,” Francis one complained.
“Copy Francis one,” he said as he continued to disregard Francis. Staying like this for long enough would all but confirm that the pilots were feigning ignorance. The distance between them and harbour airspace was rapidly closing. Any moment and they would cross the threshold of one of the most heavily trafficked airspaces in the world.
Soon enough, the wings of the behemoth slowly tipped left, right, then back left, rocking back and forth, acknowledging the interception.
“Sidos Postal flight four three seven, we acknowledge the interception, over.”
“State your reasoning for not answering radio communications upon entering Geverdian Airspace,” Francis one asked.
“Our radio was malfunctioning, and we had to perform makeshift repairs to get it up and running again. Until we fixed it, we were running on autopilot and weren’t present in the cockpit, hence we could not return your gestures, over.”
The other three fighters, including command, seemed to buy it, yet Elliot couldn’t. He had seen pilots in the cockpit and even reported it. Yet it was a discrepancy that would likely be swept under the rug for convenience.
“Your heading is the port of Excala, please confirm.”
“Yes sir.”
Francis one and two gained the speed to catch up with and surpass Elliot as he shifted his position further back, falling in line with Warper two. The four fighters escorted the airship to its destination without any foreseeable complications, yet Elliot was still uneasy. Something didn’t quite add up.
“Sidos Postal Service flight four three seven this is Warper one, over.”
“Flight four three seven, loud and clear, over.”
Elliot hesitated for a moment, shifting in his seat before deciding that he wouldn’t get another chance to ask if he let up then and there.
“Wouldn’t coastal routes usually be serviced by ship? What’s a plane doing out here?”
Radio silence for moments. More than a few moments. Elliot waited patiently for an answer. Even if he got one or not, at this point it was more than suspicious.
“There’s been an influx of cargo as of late and shipping lanes can’t handle it without delaying delivery times. Simply put, inland postage resources have been shifted here temporarily.”
The answer’s justification was weak, but it only needed to be as strong as the justification for Elliot’s unsanctioned question. Whoever was in that cockpit was either smart enough to discern that fact or had just simply gotten lucky. Yet it did not add up.
His navigation lights were on by the time Elliot’s landing gear hit the asphalt. He had gone over his shift time by at least an hour and a half and suspected he had exceeded Iris’s patience by a lot more. ‘The girl seemed tolerant’ was what he wanted to believe, yet after brawling for several hours the other day, he had started to grow sceptical.
When members of his old squadron had begun to have children, they had often talked of the growing pains that came with it. Learning that their child was suddenly partial to climbing bookcases and eating drywall, or being docile one day and rabid the next, the only difference between the two being a single day at school.
Yet Elliot could not take that as a point of reference, Iris had already been alive for presumably a decade and had only been kept in check by Evalyn’s presence. It was a primal exchange between Spirits as much as one between humans. In that way, Elliot had sincerely no clue if he could parent the way others did. He’d have to accept whoever Iris was and live with it.
And in a way he was right. Iris was not the least bit patient. Every single match of Snakes and Ladders she had lost against Elvera had resulted in a table-crashing fit of rage. Elvera would laugh her lungs out, and they would start again. Elliot sat next to them, still in military uniform, watching the strangest sight unfold before his eyes.
“Has her hair dissipated at any point?”
“What? No. She’s just gotten a bit mad, that’s all.”
“Hm…”
Fight or flight, enlarged Amygdala. That’s what the Aetherologist had proposed on the first examination of her. Yet since they had decided against testing her further, they had never gotten any proof. Nor did Elliot have any proof of his theory, but perhaps the erratic outbursts that she was prone to, were of some other nature entirely.
“Marie? How do you keep winning? There’s no skill involved in snakes and ladders.”
“This one has trivia questions at certain squares, and you go back however many times if you don’t answer them correctly.”
“Now that’s just mean.”
“What? It’s educational. This one’s educational I promise. I’ve been explaining the answers every time. This at least makes her want to learn.”
“At least feel sorry for her.”
“I’m trying! Oh, I just got a phone call from Evalyn,” Elvera said, rolling her dice seemingly unfazed.
“Martial law is being put in place in Sidos at midnight tonight. There was a bombing earlier today that killed a few people.”
“Was she there?”
“She happened to be in the crowd when it happened. She’s okay, but the bomb was magic. They’re expecting protests.”
Another abrupt outrage from Iris made her turn in Elliot’s direction. The previously adorable face had soured, like an angered kitten.
“Play.”
“What?”
“Now.”
Even in the middle of a conversation concerning the wellbeing of his wife, Elliot decided it was best not to argue.
Elvera surrendered her seat in the arena and Elliot took her place. The intensity was too much for Iris to take sitting down, so she had kneeled on the chair to presumably get some sort of advantage. She watched him sit down and pull in his chair, as if every movement was being judged for weaknesses.
She permitted Elliot to go first, and so he rolled the dice. A seven. Iris scowled as Elliot timidly moved his piece just past a question square, missing it narrowly. He gave the dice to her, and she shook them in her cupped hands as if praying to any and all gods for a number larger than seven. She paused, tongue poking out of her mouth.
She released the dice and they tumbled into the board, fate spinning their axes until they came to an abrupt halt.
Ten.
Iris grinned widely, the tides were in her favour, even if it was only the second turn. She eagerly grabbed her piece and moved it square by square, making Elliot realise at some point she had learnt, or perhaps remembered how to count.
Her triumphant face was washed away however when her piece reached a cursed square branded with the mark of the devil. The question mark.
She sighed, pointing to the deck of cards next to the playing field. Elliot grabbed the top card and carefully read it out.
“What city lies at the headwater of the Alfante river, at the base of the Northern Chain ridge?”
“Aerilia!”
Which was indeed correct. He turned to Elvera, who had a smug ‘I told you so’ look plastered across her face.
“That’s right,” Elliot said, watching the little girl’s face brighten like a candle. She impatiently pushed the dice back towards Elliot. He motioned to roll, but for a split second, thought it at least valuable to match her enthusiasm. He shook the dice between his hands, tossed them in the air and caught them, threw them at Elvera who threw them back and finally, elegantly, rolled them onto the table.
Such a powerful role garnered him a three.
Iris giggled at his meagre roll, yet he had no choice but to take it, meekly moving his piece onto a question square. Iris grabbed the top card and held it close to her face.
“What tr…tradition-al seven string ins…instr, this word?”
“Instrument,” Elvera said.
“Instrument is played across the musikian’s…lap?”
Elliot was stumped. He leaned into his chair, racking his brain for an answer.
“The uh…the…what’s it called. The mikerel was it?”
“No! The Saram!”
Elliot reluctantly moved his piece back by three places, putting him well behind Iris, to which she was delighted.
She rolled the dice fiercely once again, yet it seemed like luck was constantly mocking her, as her roll landed her on a second question mark.
Elliot took a card and read it out.
“What chain of mountains divides the old Spirit country from the middling nations?”
Iris pondered as if she was scouring her mind for an answer that it likely did not possess. Elliot expected her to answer the Northern Chain Ridge, the only mountain chain he remembered her hearing about.
“The Karaxian mountains?” she suggested.
“Correct, well done,” Elliot said, putting the card down. He figured Elvera may have taught her already.
“Iris? How’d you know that?” Elvera asked. Elliot looked at her, and she shrugged, shaking her head.
“I saw it. It’s where I died.”