My heart pounds in my throat. There are so many things in this life I haven’t done yet. I regain my composure. If I hit the side of the Artemis, it’s not going to be as a coward.
“It doesn’t really look like we have a choice,” I say, rolling my neck and focusing straight ahead.
“Do it!”
Katz throws all of the residual power into our thrusters, blasting us straight up. It isn’t an even surge. The Helios pitches forward violently, swinging the Roost’s bay out of view. The only thing visible is the vast expanse of green stretching out below us.
I pull up hard, fighting to get us balanced again.
The landing bay starts getting bigger and bigger until I realize we’re going way too fast to touch down.
I look back at Micolo. He clutches at his harness, head towards the sky, whispering prayers to himself.
“Micolo get both doors closed! We’ve got too much heat on us,” I shout. “Everyone grab onto something!”
Micolo jumps to his feet, throwing his side of the craft closed before rushing to the other panel. The frame of the forward hangar blasts past us. As Micolo grabs hold of the second door, our landing gear hits the hangar bay, ripping apart. A wake of sparks shoots out from under our hull, scraping against the deck. I pull my feet up off the floor as the heat builds, sending us on a crash course with the zeppelin hunters. The large bird-like contraptions line the opposite wall.
We’re still going too fast.
“Everyone brace yourselves!” I yell, slamming my foot against the floorboards as if it were a break.
The piercing sound of screeching fills the hangar as the deck crew sprints towards the targeted crash site. One zeppelin hunter obstructs our view. I throw myself over Katz as she curls herself up into me.
The last thing I hear is the shattering of glass and the cold clang of steel on steel.
The sky is orange, changing colors faster than I’ve ever seen before, switching from red, to orange, to white and back to red again. The effect is calming. The clouds maintain the same shape with sharp blades of the night sky punching in between them.
How are they all the same shape?
I suck in a deep breath, choking on the acrid taste of smoke. I keep pulling in more oxygen until I’ve made up for the deficit. As my eyes focus, I realize the night sky is actually just the roof of the Artemis, and my morphing colors, just the projected lights of the dancing flames from the hangar bay.
I try propping myself up to see if I still have legs, but a hand forces me back down.
“Don’t move son. Wouldn't want to break your spine, now would we?”
An elderly deck-hand kneels beside me, watching the others fight the flames. Thick unwieldy hoses snake their way through the hangar. The deck crew sprints back and forth, helping douse the fire. An enterprising young crew member climbs a support beam, putting out a flame sprouting from the roof.
Panic rises to the surface. “Where is the rest of my crew?” I croak.
I struggle to roll to my side, but the old man’s gentle push overpowers me.
“Save your strength son, you’ve done enough already. The medics are on their way,” he says.
That’s when I notice the blood. A sizeable pool of it surrounds me. Shaking, I lie back down. Someone lights hot coals beneath my back. Even as the pain takes over, darkness pulls me back under again.
I awaken to a sea of white. I’m face-down on a cot. It’s dark, but enough light leaks in from the next room for me to make out silhouettes. The bed to my left accommodates a woman with a heavily bandaged head. The occupant to my right sports sharp Mediterranean features.
Micolo. He’s alive. His right arm’s lassoed up over the bed, and he has several cuts lashed across his face. Upon further inspection, I realize the heavily bandaged woman is Katz.
We're still missing too many people.
“You awake Sage?”
The voice startles me. “Chet?” I ask.
Chet materializes out of the shadows. “The one and only.” His telltale smile takes over again. “Someone had to watch over you to make sure you didn’t die.”
I try turning towards him, but my back ignites once again. Crying out, I lie back down. “Chet, what’s wrong with my back. What happened?” I ask.
He looks me over. “You’re lucky you’re alive Sage. You popped right through that windshield. Took a couple of shards with you. The rest of ‘em cut you up pretty good.”
Just lie still. Find out more. “What happened to Carter? Please tell me he survived.” I pause, pulling in a ragged breath. “There’s no way we went through all that for nothing.”
Chet’s smile appears again. “Don’t worry Sage, he’s in the bed across from you. You never were any good with blind spots,” he assures me.
His eyes lose their warmth. “Sasha proved even in death she could still save lives. She took the brunt of the hit when we collided with that hunter . . . for the both of us.”
I let my head roll back. It’s a gruesome thought.
“So she’s gone then?” I ask.
Chet looks back down, nodding. “Yeah, she’s gone . . . ”
Closing my eyes, I picture Rosie running through the streets like I did. I shake my head. An orphan at the age of seven. I should be one to write the letter to Sasha's sister, her next of kin. What do I even say? How do I even find her address?
I chance a look at the other beds. “Micolo and Katz?” I ask.
Chet moves over to Katz's bed. “Micolo nearly got his arm torn off closing that second door. He’s lucky he got away with just a nasty break and some scrapes,” Chet replies. “Katz smashed her head pretty good. We think it’s just a concussion, but she hasn’t woken up yet. If you hadn’t braced her, she’d have ended up through that windshield too.”
I take a deep breath, studying the bland whiteness of the wall. Why is it that infirmaries never give you anything else to focus on?
“She saved us you know,” I say.
Chet sits back down in his seat. “Yeah, but she wasn’t the only one, if I remember correctly,” he offers.
I sit up a little bit farther than I should. “Chet, I trashed the Helios, destroyed a zep hunter, and put us all in the hospital.”
His dark eyes scan the room quietly. “Better than the morgue,”, he quips. “Go back to sleep, Sage. It’s late.”
I take his advice.
The morning light pierces my half-remembered dreams, prying my eyes open. A face that doesn’t belong to Chet glances down at me.
“Cass?” I manage.
“You made it back,” she smiles.
Sitting back, I take her in. "I'm as surprised as you are," I say.
She puts a hand up to my forehead, searching for a fever. "They're letting you go home today."
I frown at her, confused. "They're letting me go already?" I ask.
Her fair features contort. “What do you mean ‘already?’ The crash happened two days ago.”
Two days? I’ve been asleep for two days? “Cass, why didn’t you wake me up?” I ask.
She pulls back. “I would have, but your unconscious kicking and punching persuaded me that rest was the best option. Oh, and by the way, it’s nice to see you alive too.”
Whatever drugs they've pumped into me are muddling my thoughts. The first thing I should’ve done was let her know how happy her visit makes me.
Cassandra Dawson. A short-contract nurse on the Artemis. Well, more than that. To me anyways. She came to our ship from one of our ports-of-call and just never left. She found too much work to do, too many people to take care of. For whatever reason, she just keeps re-upping her terms. I think she’s stayed on with us just to get away from the squalor of the rest of the world. Even so, she commands the natural ability to calm anyone she lays eyes on. Her kind is in short supply these days.
Her talent, along with her beauty, led me to try very hard to be her favorite, and then some. For a very short time, it worked. Too bad things had to turn out the way
they did. Some loves just aren’t meant to be.
She brushes a dark lock of hair past her sea foam eyes. “Do I at least get a hug?” she asks.
It’s a bittersweet request, but I nod anyways. “Of course . . . Gently! Gently.””
I can’t help it. Even with my back in shreds, I’ll use pretty much any excuse to hold her again just for a little while.
She gently folds herself into me, lying her head on my chest. Her hands lightly caress my side, careful not to reinjure me. She doesn’t seem to care that the bandages aren’t enough to keep her hand from slowly taking on a red tinge. I let out a sigh, wondering if crash landing another ship would be so bad if this were the reward.
“Excuse me my dears, am I interrupting something?”
The one voice from the entire crew I don’t want to hear: Sanjar Khan.
Cass shoots upright immediately. She wipes her hands together, trying to clean off the blood. I also attempt to prop myself up into a more respectable pose before managing a very crimped salute.
I stumble over my words. “Uhh . . . Admiral Khan, I wasn’t expecting your presence. Please excuse my appearance.”
Cass doesn’t say anything; she keeps her eyes lowered instead.
Wracking my brain, I try finding a reason why the owner and commander of the Artemis is paying me a visit.
Sanjar’s pale eyes sweep the room. They match the shock of grey that highlights his well-trimmed beard and mustache. Flecks of it can also be seen in his precisely combed hair.
“Please, please, you are embarrassing me with your formalities. Be at ease my friends,” he gestures.
In no way does he actually mean this.
His diplomatic smile renews. “I came to congratulate you on your being alive, not to discipline you,” he assures.
The Admiral is well-dressed as usual. His gold-rimmed collar buttons all the way up to his throat. Next to his covered Adam’s apple is a pin of a golden bow. Since its inception, the Artemis has flown the standard of a golden bow accompanied by three equally-angled arrows, all over a black background. With the exception of the Red Swans, the same bow is printed on the wings of every aircraft launched from this ship, and every shoulder of its pilots and marines.
I fight the urge to look down at my dressings. “Admiral, I appreciate that, but I crashed two of your aircraft and lit half the Roost on fire.”
The Admiral steps to the side of my bed. “Yes, and it was a crash that took staunch bravery. The kind that is not commonly seen these days,” he muses.
I bite my cracked lips. I’m no state to be in front of anyone. “Regardless, my apologies Admiral. It must have been very expensive for you,” I say.
Flinching, I mentally calculate the projected costs.
“Corporal Basmon, in my time commanding this vessel, I’ve found that the most expensive pieces of the puzzle are often the ones dealing in human capital. You have saved me four of these pieces. Five, including yourself.”
Sasha’s bullet-riddled body flashes through my mind. “My apologies it wasn’t six, sir.”
The Admiral betrays a glimpse of frustration. “Corporal Basmon, if you continue to apologize for your gallantry, I may change my mind about disciplining you,” he grumbles.
“Understood sir,” I respond, sitting up a little straighter.
Sanjar pauses. “Miss Dawson, if you would please excuse us for a moment, I would like to address Corporal Basmon alone.”
Cass recomposes herself, giving a curt nod. “Of course, Admiral.”
Sanjar’s eyes follow Cass as she takes her leave. Once she’s gone, their iron gaze returns to me. “Congratulations, Corporal,” he says.
I’m confused. We’ve already gone over this. “On what, sir?” I ask.
The Admiral grins. “On your promotion. You are an Airman now.”
I forget I’m speaking with a superior officer. “What? I don’t even know how to fly!” I blurt out.
The Admiral sweeps his large arm, stretching toward the one window in the infirmary. “Did you not pilot a Helios into our hangar with little to no training?” he asks.
“Admiral, I played a small part in that rescue. Comms Officer Cheryl Katz was the main operator once Lieutenant Sasha Urbansova was confirmed KIA.”
The Admiral lowers his arm, pacing across the room. “I understand Miss Katz’s involvement in the event, and she too will be commended. The fact of the matter remains that you were in the pilot’s seat of that ship. For that, you are not only an Airman, but a man of initiative,” he asserts.
I realize I should thank him, but no words come. The prospect of individual flight is a horrifying one.
But the Admiral knows he has me. He makes one more move before achieving his checkmate. “Airman Basmon, how long have you lived aboard this ship?”
The Admiral already knows how long. “My whole life, sir,” I answer anyway.
Sanjar steps to my side, folding his hands behind his back. “And in that time, when have you felt that the population aboard this vessel has been particularly stable?”
I reflect on all of the different people on board; the personalities are constantly shifting and transitioning. Some stay, while others are born into loyalty. Most are just passengers trying to get to their next destination.
“Never,” I answer.
Sanjar nods, turning away. “Ah, then would you not agree that we must take advantage of every opportunity available to unite our transient community?, he asks.
I’m not following.
“Mr. Basmon, stories of the crash are making their rounds throughout the ship. It can either be painted as a terrible failure on our part, or a heroic action by our crew.” The Admiral pauses. “Which do you think I would prefer it to be?” he asks, fixing me with his grin.
I sink back into the covers in spite of myself. “So you’re gonna to make me a poster child?” I ask uneasily.
The Admiral raises his voice. “I am going to make you a hero! It’s not as though you do not deserve it.”
He makes his way to the exit. “Corporal Basmon, one day you must understand that there is much more to this world than just yourself. There are people depending on us who you don’t even realize. If we can’t put on a strong face, we will sink back into tribal warfare.” The Admiral pauses at the door. “I’ve owned the Artemis for thirty-two years. It is because of men like you that we have kept control of this ship. Men like your father.”
My jaw tightens at the mention of him. Of course the Admiral would play that last card right before he leaves.
“Understood sir,” I manage.
Taking my response as acceptance, the Admiral nods his head my way. “Congratulations again on your promotion. You will report to Gold Squadron as soon as you are fit. Keep your nails clean, your hair trimmed, and your beard off.” He fixes his grey gaze on me one last time. “Look like a hero.”
The door slams, his footsteps echoing outside the doorway.
Sinking back into my cot, I wonder how many ‘men like me’ have been used to bolster the populace since this ship first left ground.
If they were anything like my father, how many of them are still alive?
3
The wind howls like an anguished, unseen animal. Orange signs posted by the bulkheads state that one should traverse the Outer Rim ‘at their own risk’.
With all that’s happened, I feel like taking a risk today.
“You survive one plane crash, and now you think you’re invincible?” The Voice says.
“Shut up,” I say to the wind. “Let’s test it out.”
I step out of the doorway and into the rain and darkness. It’s a needless gamble on my life, but it I’ve felt so numb since the accident; since Sasha’s death. Maybe this can jumpstart something inside me.
I let the wind blow me through puddles and rain-slicked steel. When I feel I’ve lost control, I grab onto the prominent railing that dominates the outer-most area of the Rim. The rain lashes at my face as I cling there until
the winds die down for a moment. Of the many ways to reach the Cellar, I doubt any of them provide as much of a challenge as this. The numerous stitches pull on my back, threatening to rip if I stress them any further.
This whole training process should be interesting. I may have served as a gunner on a Helios, but that’s an entirely different responsibility compared to singular flight. Running retrieval, you’re part of a team. If something goes wrong, you can work together to find a solution.
As a pilot, if you start leaking coolant, you better find yourself a friendly zeppelin or a rare patch of grass because nothing else is going to help save you. Your best bet is just to hold your rig together long enough, because you sure as hell aren’t getting out of your seat to make repairs. Let’s hope I can remember all of the little tricks and basics I learned in Foundational Training.
Sliding by a drenched crewman checking the integrity of the balloon’s steel cables, I spot the Cellar’s bulkhead door at the center of the starboard side. Opening it gives life to small rivers that pour down the steps and around the corner. Shuffling down the stairwell, I realize I’ve never actually been inside before. We had always tried as kids, but we were constantly shooed away by the guards. What little boy wouldn’t want to see their favorite fighters and heroes close up? Especially if one was your father?
The stairwell opens up to a massive hangar bay lined with aircraft. The blocks of colors are readily apparent, coupled with some of the decals applied by veterans who have lived long enough to customize their fighters. Some planes sit idle, and emblemless, waiting either to be claimed or used as replacements. Others bear tangible scars the Cellar’s deck crews were unable to refinish: aesthetics aren’t their specialty.
A tight formation of pilots stands at the apex of intersecting shadows in the middle of the bay.
I let out a groan.
The Cellar must be a place where an 0630 meeting actually means 6:15, or suffer the consequences. I can’t decide whether to run to make up time, or try sneaking to the back. Naïvely, I choose stealth.
With Eyes Turned Skyward Page 3