“You’ve spoken to me now, so you know I’m fine. If you need me to make a statement about what happened during the crash, I’ll do it. I’ve already said I’ll never set foot in a plane again. Are we done now?”
He gave me an annoying grin. “No, we aren’t done. You’re coming back tomorrow to practise take-offs and landings.”
“What?”
“I said that you’re coming back tomorrow to practise take-offs and landings.”
“What?” I repeated the word again like a complete nardle. My ears obviously weren’t working properly because he couldn’t have said that.
Gradin sighed and spoke one word at a time. “Tomorrow. Take-offs. Landings. Please, don’t gawp at me and say ‘what’ again, because we could keep this up for hours.”
“No. I’m not flying again. Ever.”
“Yes, you are. You’re flying again tomorrow. Aren’t you listening to me?”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “You’re the one who isn’t listening. Everyone says you can tell everything about a pilot from their landings, and I’ve proved I’m utterly dreadful. I’ve given up.”
“Do you always overreact like this every time you mess something up?”
I thought about my science teacher, imagining what she’d say if she found out I’d crashed a plane. An off-world comedian could make up a whole vid series of jokes about a dumb ape crashing a plane.
“I’m not overreacting. If I can’t do something well, then I don’t do it at all.”
Gradin shook his head. “Being a perfectionist can be good, but you’re taking it too far. If you give up and run away every time you make a mistake, you’ll never do anything with your life.”
“What I do with my life is my business, not yours.”
“When what you do is crash my plane, you make it my business. Get back here tomorrow. Same time.”
“But you didn’t want to teach me to fly even before …” I broke off the sentence to avoid saying the words.
“No, I didn’t, but I don’t run away from things. When I start something, I finish it, and …” Gradin pulled a face. “I may have seemed angry with you back there, but the truth is I was really mad at myself. I had pilot controls active, so I could have overridden you at any second. Your take-off was a bit enthusiastic but otherwise fine. Your only problem in midair was when you lost your bearings for a moment. A typical novice pilot error. You were forgetting your control panel and using your eyes, and everything looks different from the air.”
Gradin had noticed the moment when I couldn’t see the New York Fringe Command Centre domes. What had given that away? He couldn’t have seen my face because it was hidden inside my suit hood.
“Your landing approach was well judged,” continued Gradin, “and the transition to hovers went smoothly, so I got sloppy and didn’t pay attention to your shut down sequence. If I had, I’d have seen you’d left the thrusters on minimum and shut them down myself.”
“It was my mistake.”
“It was our mistake,” said Gradin. “You forgot your landing checklist, which was stupid. I failed to give adequate supervision to an inexperienced pupil, which was criminally negligent. I’m not running away from my mistake, and I’m not letting you run away from yours either.”
“But we can’t fly tomorrow. The plane is damaged.”
He laughed. “It sounded far worse than it actually was. Planes are designed to survive much more than just scraping along the ground on minimum thrusters, so there’s nothing but a few scratches on the right wing tip stabilizer and the main body. If Fringe Dig Site Command decides it needs a new coat of paint before it’s fit to be seen in public, we’ll fly one of my other planes instead. Tomorrow. Same time.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the holo of Gradin had vanished. He’d ended the call.
I stared down at my blank lookup. Gradin was offering me a second chance at my dream of being a pilot, but how could I go back to New York Fringe after what had just happened? It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d stayed in the plane and endured Gradin yelling at me on the private channel that no one else could hear, but I’d made a complete and utter fool of myself by running off. Everyone in reception had seen me stumbling to the portal in tears. If Gradin had watched that scene on the surveillance vid, then all the staff at Fringe Dig Site Command had probably seen it too.
I couldn’t go back there after that. I couldn’t face them laughing at me, and there was no point anyway. I’d only do something stupid again and prove I really was a dumb throwback.
But if I didn’t go back, I’d never get into a plane again. Never know the joy of escaping the ground. Never have that crazy feeling that I could fly forever and reach the stars.
Chapter Twelve
I spent a restless night, my dreams full of crashing planes and crowds of people pointing at me and laughing. When I woke up, I still didn’t know what I was going to do. Breakfast went by in a blur, and then I had to spend the morning suffering Compulsory Core classes at school.
Once you were 16, you had to spend one morning a week on each of Social Responsibility and Compulsory Core, and the rest of your time in specialist classes. Social Responsibility was dominated by Hospital Earth’s attempts to persuade as many of us as possible to go into childcare careers, while Compulsory Core was a cross-sector legal requirement in every school on every world of humanity.
Compulsory Core had the officially stated aim of promoting understanding, mutual respect, and unity across the sectors. I’ve no idea how well it achieved its hopelessly soppy intention in norm schools, but it didn’t work too well with the Handicapped because most of the content was completely inappropriate for us.
This morning’s vid was about politics, so the whole class were ignoring the big wall vid. Earth was physically in the centre of Alpha sector, but wasn’t legally a member of that or any other sector, so why would we care about how Parliament of Planets and Sector High Congress were organized? We didn’t even get to vote for planetary representatives, because Earth was run by a bunch of sector-appointed norms on the main board of Hospital Earth.
We were in our standard classes for Compulsory Core, so Issette was sitting next to me, drooling over images of her favourite singer, Zen Arrath, on her lookup. Keon was on the other side of me, apparently fast asleep. I sat between them, trying to force myself to think calmly and logically about whether I should go back to New York Fringe after school, and failing miserably. My head kept replaying the moment when I crashed the plane. My ears were filled with the sound of the sickening crunch as it hit the ground, and my stomach churned with shame and embarrassment.
The tedium of Compulsory Core finally ended, and we had our lunch break. I sat in silence, prodding at my food with a fork rather than eating it, while the others chattered away to each other. Eventually, Issette turned to frown at me.
“Jarra, what’s wrong?”
“We’ve just been forced to watch a vid about politics, when the Handicapped aren’t allowed to vote,” I said bitterly. “What do you think is wrong?”
She gave me a doubtful look, which showed she’d guessed there was something more going on here than my usual frustrations at the way the Handicapped were treated, but didn’t ask any more questions.
In the afternoon, we split up into our study streams. Given Earth’s specialities, the three major streams were naturally Childcare, Medical and History, with everything else wedged together under Alternative Studies. Maeth, Ross, and Selia were in Childcare stream, Issette, Vina and Ayden were in the Medical stream, I was in the History stream, and Keon and Cathan were with the other oddities in Alternative Studies.
I had no break in the afternoon, because I wasn’t just studying standard modern history and pre-history, but taking the extension classes in pre-history as well. I loved pre-history, the days when humanity only lived on Earth. If I’d been born back then, everyone would have thought I was totally normal. It was the invention of the drop portal that changed everythin
g, gave humanity the stars, and divided it into the norms who streamed off to found new worlds and the Handicapped who were left on Earth as it fell apart.
We were studying the late twenty-third century that afternoon. That was the magical time, the last years of pre-history when humanity’s science and technology was at a peak that we still hadn’t regained. Wallam-Crane had invented the standard portal, so people could travel freely around Earth. The legendary sprawling cities of Earth still held countless millions.
No one thought that within a hundred years those cities would be abandoned and falling into ruins. No one realized that finding the doorway to the stars would lead to disaster, as humanity overstretched itself in the greed to settle far too many new worlds far too fast. No one knew the Earth data net would crash, robbing humanity of half the knowledge they took for granted, and leaving civilization near total collapse.
I tried to forget the nagging issue of whether I’d go back to New York Fringe, and concentrate on our history teacher talking about the lost technology of the past, but it was hard to lose myself in my love of history when I was constantly aware of the clock on the wall. The time seemed to be speeding by, rushing me on to the moment when I’d have to make a decision.
“Central to the twenty-third century society was an individual’s personal net,” said our teacher. “These were completely invisible to anyone else, since there was no actual display. You saw your personal net by means of signals sent directly to the visual centre of your brain.”
He used his lookup to project a set of glowing holo spheres around the room. “If you go and stand in the centre of one of these spheres, you’ll see a holo recreation of the view of a personal net.”
I went and stood in the nearest sphere, and saw a mass of glowing images and data flowing around me.
“Totally zan!” said someone. “I wish I had a personal net instead of just a lookup.”
The bell rang to signal the end of the school day, and the glory around me abruptly vanished as our history teacher turned off the holo spheres. I came back from the past to the present, and felt sick as I realized I was out of time. If I was going to sacrifice my pride and go back to New York Fringe, I had to do it now. I followed the rest of the class out of the door, and found Issette waiting for me.
“Jarra, what’s the matter?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. I’ve just got to go over to New York Fringe to sort something out.”
She frowned. “Is the pilot trying to wriggle his way out of teaching you to fly?”
I could never talk to people about the things that really upset me. Not to my prying psychologist, not to Issette, not even to Candace. Talking meant thinking about the problem. Talking meant admitting it hurt. Talking took away all my defences.
“Not exactly,” I said. “You’d better hurry or you’ll miss the block portal back to Next Step.”
Issette hesitated for a moment, then waved her hands in despair and headed off to where the first wave of kids was already vanishing through active portals. The first window of scheduled block portals ended, the portals shut down for a moment and then activated again. More kids went through until only a handful stood waiting to dial their own individual destinations. One of them was Vina. As I walked up to the portals, she glared at me.
“Have you stayed here to spy on me?”
I sighed. “Of course not. I didn’t go back to Next Step because I’m supposed to go to America this evening.”
“Going flying again?” She shook her head. “You’re obsessive, Jarra. Why can’t you do normal, fun things like everyone else?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned away from me to dial a portal, using her left hand to block my view of what portal code she was entering. A chaos stupid thing to do, because it told me she was going to see Ben’s mother again.
I didn’t bother to say anything. I’d made a complete mess of my own affairs so I could hardly criticize Vina. Let her go ahead and make a nardle of herself if she wanted.
After Vina walked through her portal, it deactivated. Everyone else had gone now. I stood there alone, looking at the blank portal in front of me. Should I go to New York or my Next Step? Should I sacrifice my pride or my dreams? Should I risk making an idiot of myself for the second time and proving all the off-world comedians were right?
I’d been standing there for five minutes without moving, when I heard the sound of a hideously familiar voice. I turned my head in alarm, and saw a group of teachers were walking towards the portals. The science teacher was in the lead, bellowing a series of complaints about the hot weather so none of the others had a chance to say a word.
I was desperate to escape before she noticed me and made one of her acid remarks about me and science, so I hastily dialled Europe Transit 3, reassuring myself that going there didn’t commit me to anything. Once in the Transit, I automatically joined a queue and walked through an inter-continental portal to America, then headed to the nearest local portal and dialled New York Fringe.
The portal flickered to life and I stood there looking at it. I’d delayed my decision to the final second, but I had to make it now. Did I turn round and head back to Next Step, or force myself to walk through that portal?
Vina had said I was obsessive, and she was right. I didn’t just spend every school day studying history, I watched history vids in my spare time, and spent my school breaks excavating ruins with the history club. On top of all that, I’d been going to ludicrous lengths to try and learn to fly.
Why keep doing these things? Why walk through that portal and humiliate myself? I didn’t have to go to New York Fringe today. I didn’t have to go there ever again. I could turn round right now, walk away, and do what Vina said. Forget the ruined cities and the flying, and spend my summer break doing normal things like everyone else.
I didn’t turn round. I lifted my head and walked into the portal, because I wasn’t everyone else. I was me. The stars were out of my reach, but I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life chained to the ground. I was going to get back in a plane and fly.
Chapter Thirteen
I hurried straight through the New York Fringe reception area. Technically, I should report my arrival at the desk, but the woman sitting behind it was the same one I’d spoken to about getting my pilot’s licence, and she’d seen me leaving in tears yesterday. I wasn’t sure whether I’d get criticism or encouragement from her, but I couldn’t handle either.
I heard the woman’s voice as I went through the door. She was speaking too quietly for me to make out the words, but I guessed she was telling Gradin I was here. I ran to central stores, grabbed the same impact suit I’d worn before, and sprinted for the changing rooms. It was a pathetic gesture towards salvaging my pride, but I’d show Gradin exactly how fast I could suit up.
I yanked off my clothes, pulled on the skintight you wore under an impact suit, and then slowed down to put on the suit itself. Rushing was counterproductive when you were putting on an impact suit. Any sudden pull at the fabric would trigger it, so it went rock hard the same way it did in an accident.
The second I had the suit on, I set the displays to show my name and headed for the landing area, pulling my hood up and sealing it on the way. The plane parked there had long grazes scarring the paintwork on its side. I couldn’t spare more than a single guilty look at them, because Gradin was already sitting in the cockpit, the flashing lights in front of him showing he was running diagnostics and power checks.
I hesitated as he turned towards me, tempted to run away again, but comforted myself with two things. Firstly, Gradin’s startled movement showed he hadn’t expected me to be suited up this fast. Secondly, he couldn’t see my face through the fabric of my impact suit hood. That meant I didn’t have to worry about betraying expressions or tears. Only my voice could give away my feelings and I’d keep my words to an absolute minimum.
I accepted a hover tunic from Gradin, put it on, and climbed into the co-pilot’s seat. Gradin didn’t s
ay hello, just started giving instructions.
“When pre-flight system checks have finished, you’ll take off, do a couple of midair circles, and come in to land. You’ll repeat that several times. Don’t worry. Nothing will go wrong because I’ll be paying proper attention this time.”
I entered my pilot code, then silently sat there watching the diagnostics finish. After that came the moment I’d been dreading. The standard exchange on broadcast channel.
“This is New York survey plane,” said Gradin. “Requesting clearance to launch.”
Needle stabs of embarrassment hit me as I listened to a woman reply, hypersensitive to every inflection in her voice. Had she heard about what happened yesterday? Was she fighting back laughter? Was there a hint of sarcasm in the professional tone?
“This is Fringe Dig Site Command. New York survey plane, you are clear to launch.”
“This is New York survey plane. Pilot handing control to co-pilot for launch.”
And now it was my turn. I unlocked the co-pilot controls, switched my comms to broadcast channel for a moment, and forced out the words. “This is New York survey plane co-pilot, Jarra Reeath. I have control.”
How had that sounded to the people listening? Probably tense, but at least my voice hadn’t been shaking. I moved on to face the next test, lifting the plane up on hovers and positioning for take-off. Thankfully, Gradin wasn’t nagging me to hurry up this time, so I could take a moment to prepare myself before engaging thrusters and launching the plane skywards.
Safely up in the air, I banked the aircraft to start the first of my two circles over the New York Fringe Command Centre. Frankly, I’d have liked to fly dozens of circles, hundreds of circles, staying up in the air for the full power capacity of the aircraft. The idea of landing was terrifying the chaos out of me.
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