- It started with a missing crew, but it didn’t end there. It ended in flaming ruin and a line of widows standing outside the Board offices on Scrape. Two hundred and fifteen airmen dead, two ships lost, a town burned to sticks and ashes.
And it could all have been so much worse…
A quiet morning at Central. The big board lit blue, green and yellow. Each ship its own block of colour, following its own path through the skies of Glory. Every minute the board updates, the coloured squares move half an inch and a hundred souls and a thousand tonnes of freight are a mile and a half nearer their destination. Jake stands, or Bill stands, or Hortense stands, or Levi, or Kamui. They stand and they watch and they record. A nudge. Coffee. Jake says thanks and picks up the mug and drinks; and his eyes never leave the board.
The colours burned into his retinas. When he blinked they lived on behind his eyelids, inverted. Green was red, yellow blue. He lost touch. He blinked, he refocused, and the blocks remained. Or he blinked at the wrong time and they panic-moved. Heart stop-start. Some counted the blocks. He didn’t – not consciously. He knew, without counting. He blinked, he looked and the colours separated, overlapped, merged. He caught up. The board was still good. It hadn’t changed, or its change was benign.
One hour. One hour of this is all anyone can take. Then handover; and eyes must lock, unlock, be prisoned and free, free and captive. After an hour Jake left the control room and stood on the balcony outside. He could breathe. Move. Smoke. Especially, smoke.
Skyway Raiders - coming soon!
