Skyward (The Skyward Series Book 1)
Skyward: Part 4 – Chapter 42

A number of days later, FM and I ate with Inkwell Flight and Firestorm Flight, the other two cadet flights who had started at the same time as us. Between them, they had six members remaining, meaning that even all of us combined didn’t make a full ten-person flight.

Most of the conversation swirled around whether or not we’d be collected into a single cadet flight. If that happened, which flight name would we keep? FM argued we should make up a new name, though I figured that since we still had our flightleader—the other two had lost theirs at some point—we should be in charge.

I stayed quiet, finishing my food quickly. Part of me kept expecting the admiral to burst in and haul me off. The food was amazing, and instead of my old patched jumpsuit, I’d been able to requisition three new ones that fit me perfectly.

The other cadets were growing anxious for graduation. “I’m going to be a scout,” said Remark, a boisterous guy with a bowl cut. “I’ve already got an invitation.”

“Too boring,” FM said.

“Really?” said one of the girls. “I’d have thought it would appeal to you—with all your talk of ‘Defiant aggression.’ ”

“It’s so expected though,” FM said. “Even if I am kind of good at it.”

As I listened, I wondered if FM would be taken away by her family too, though she didn’t seem as important as Jorgen, who was off at another state function. I idly wondered what it would be like to attend one of his fancy government dinners. I imagined the delicious scandal I would cause. The daughter of the infamous coward?

Of course, everyone would be too polite to say anything, so they’d have to suffer through it while I—being a primitive barbarian girl—ignorantly slurped my soup, belched loudly, and ate with my hands. Jorgen would just roll his eyes.

The fantasy made me smile, but then I frowned to myself. Why was I thinking about Jorgen, of all people?

The others at the table laughed as someone mentioned Arturo’s callsign, which nobody could pronounce. “It must be quiet in your training, now that he’s dropped,” said Drama—a girl with an accent reminiscent of Kimmalyn’s.

“We’ll survive,” FM answered. “Though it is odd with him gone. There’s no one to constantly explain things to me that I already know.”

“What a strange flight you must have,” Drama said. “I know Jorgen, and I’ll bet he doesn’t open his mouth except to give you an order or chew you out. Right? And Spin is obviously quiet. So your flights must be silent. Our line is always filled with chatter, even with only four of us.”

Her flightmates defended themselves in a good-natured way, but I found myself stuck on that line about me. Quiet? They thought I was quiet?

I supposed I had been pretty reserved lately. But quiet? I honestly didn’t think I’d ever been described that way in my entire life. Huh.

Dinner broke up, and after we cleared our table, FM nodded toward our bunk. “Heading back to rest? Or doing some PT?”

“Neither,” I said. “I think I need a walk tonight.” Actually, I needed to check on M-Bot and Doomslug. It had been a few days.

“Suit yourself.” She hesitated. “Hey, you still worried about Arturo? He’ll get to fly, just not on missions.”

“Sure,” I said. “I know.” Stars. Days later, and she thought I still needed consoling?

I left the base. I really should have gone and done some PT, but I felt guilty for leaving M-Bot alone for so long. I’d dropped in a few times to help Rig with the booster, but now that I lived on base, it was tough to find the time. I wanted to savor the privileges I’d been denied so long.

The skylights had dimmed to indicate night, and the air was cool as I made the familiar trek over the dusty ground. It was refreshing to get away from the sights and smells of Alta, to simply be out under the sky again.

I reached the cavern and let myself down with my light-line, bracing for the inevitable string of complaints. M-Bot was not fond of my new sleeping arrangements. He was convinced he was going to rot away, his personality subroutines degrading from lack of use.

I reached the ground. “Hey,” I said, my voice echoing.

“Hey!” Doomslug was on a rock nearby. I shined my light on her, then walked over and scratched her head.

“Massacrebot?” I said into the darkness.

“We still have to discuss that nickname,” his voice said. “I never agreed to it.”

“If you don’t pick a good callsign, someone else will pick one for you. It’s how these things go.” I smiled, walking up to the ship, expecting him to go off on some tangent. But he was silent as I approached. Was something wrong?

“Well?” he said. “Well?”

“Uh …” What did I do this time?

“Are you excited!” he asked. “Are you just about ready to burst! Isn’t it great!”

Great?

The booster. I realized with a start. Rig had finished installing it. I’d done a terrible job of tracking his progress—I’d been so busy these few weeks. But his tools were gone, the area cleaned up, and a note was taped to the back of M-Bot’s fuselage.

Doomslug was sitting on the wing near the note. “Stupid junky piece of worthless imitation life,” she said in a fluting imitation of Rig’s voice. “Scud! Scud! Scud! Scudding scud and stupid scud!”

“Careful, girl,” I said. “You’ll get recruited for the ground crews with a mouth like that.”

She produced a sequence of bangs, mimicking the sound of a hammer on metal—something she’d probably heard a lot of the last few weeks.

I picked up the note. Done. the note read. I was going to take it up and test it, but I felt you should get the first shot. Besides, I wouldn’t put it past the AI to crash me on purpose.

Working on this ship has been the most wonderful experience of my life (don’t tell M-Bot that). The designs I’ve drawn … the things I’ve learned … I’m going to change the DDF, Spin. I’m going to transform the entire way we fly and fight. I’ve not only been approved for the Engineering Corps, I’ve been offered a position directly in design. I start tomorrow.

Thank you for giving me the chance to find, in this work, my own dreams. Enjoy your ship. I hope that it is, in turn, what you have always dreamed it would be.

I lowered the note, looking up along M-Bot’s dangerous, razorlike wings. The ship’s landing lights flashed on, setting a glow along his length. My ship.

My. Ship.

“Well?” M-Bot said. “Are we going to go flying?”

“Scud, yes!”

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