The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Twenty

River watched silently from the communication console as Devon and Rowan prepared for atmo entry. She was studying what they were doing intently. The flight sequences were much different than what Wash did on Serenity, she noted, and as she corroborated what their hands were doing with what their minds were doing, she was getting a better and better picture of how the Sky Hawk worked. She was enjoying her time here. In the week she and her brother had been aboard, they had made two quick stops at villages on tiny moons where Duncan had regular clients. Now they were making their third, on the agro moon of St. Albans. Each time they went into the world or out of it she begged to be allowed into the cockpit. While Duncan was initially reluctant (Jayne had told him about her kitchen knife faux pas and her other eccentricities) Rowan pleaded on her behalf, and he grudgingly allowed it. River had learned a lot. She already had an excellent technical knowledge of flight mechanics – having a photographic memory was useful like that – but to be able to see and experience the process from inside the head of the pilot allowed her to glean more practically useful information than she could have gotten in a top flight school. But she knew she didn’t have it all. There was so much unpredictability in flight – mechanical issues, of course, but also the chaos of gravity, weather and electromagnetism – that she found it a heady challenge to contemplate how one little central nervous system with only two hands and two feet and two eyes could possibly get a multi-ton ship to go against the very nature of solid matter and leap into (or out of) the Black. It was addicting. Like dance, only with engines. She rode shotgun in Rowan’s mind (it was easier to get behind her eyes than Devon’s, for some reason) and saw and felt just as the other teenaged girl did. Which switches to hit. Which levers to pull. What safeties could be overridden. What protocols to observe. When Devon surrendered control to Rowan (though with the control return only a button away) as they hit atmo, River could feel how the ship bit into the ionosphere through the wheel – and how it was different than the way Serenity did, when she had ridden along in Wash’s mind. That only made sense, of course – the two ships had a completely different chassis style and burn silhouette. The Sky Hawk was larger, almost twice as big as a Firefly, and it was less aerodynamic. But it also had more power. Four VTOL jets, one at each corner of the squarish craft, gave the Hawk a lot more braking power, which decreased the amount of time it spent in the hellish upper atmo. It also made it a lot harder to handle, but for a shorter period of time. This was a gentle landing. The atmo on St. Albans was thinner than most terraformed worlds, and it bit less into the control surfaces. Rowan had to depend a lot more on the jets than she was used to – but that was part of the process. River knew that in Devon’s expert opinion, Rowan was already a better pilot than most coming from the Core world schools. Better than most Alliance trained pilots. But still not as good as him. That took years. “Ease back on the stick, girly,” Devon said gruffly. “Don’t hold’er too tight, you’ll overcorrect if you hit turbulence.” “I’m easing,” Rowan said, mostly appreciating the advice. But there was the one part of her that was resentful of his close attention. “That’s it . . . now . . . engage the primaries . . . and the secondaries . . . now hold . . .” “I’ve got it, Uncle D,” she said through clenched teeth. “I know you do,” he assured. “I’m just talkin’ to myself. Check your speed – no need to come floppin’ in like a headless chicken,” he added. “My speed is fine,” she shot back. “Just a little above normal.” “You don’t watch it, you’ll overshoot the LZ,” he said warningly. “It’s . . . fine . . .” she repeated, though she added a little more power to the braking thrusters. “Gravity horizon coming up,” Duncan noted, picking up the intercom. “All hands, Rowan’s at the stick, comin’ up on some bumpiness.” River could hear the groans in the minds of most of the other adults on board. A few of the kids were actually looking forward to it. “Uncle D!” Rowan whined. “I wish you wouldn’t do that!” “Girly, a good pilot always warns his passengers o’ bumpiness. Then, if it ain’t so bad, they think you’re a genius. If it’s worse, they ‘preciate your skill and foresight. Leavin’ ‘em shakin’, though, that just causes panic.” “Like you do whenever you say ‘Rowan’s at the stick’!: The ship started to shake and vibrate as the grav drive that held them all in their seats had to synchronize with the gravity of the moon. That was bumpy even on Serenity. On the Hawk, River noted, it was twice as worse, probably because of the dual grav drives the ship boasted. They occasionally got out of sync to each other – with humorous consequences. “Ease back, Dynamite!” Devon insisted. “Ain’t like we got a warm wet cushion to come into – this atmo’s thinner than Winnie’s patience!” “I know!” Rowan insisted. “I did that on purpose!” “Why?” Devon asked, confused – and anxious. “So I could do . . . this!” Rowan said, her fingers flying across the controls. A look of horror crossed Devon’s face, left in favor of terror, then came back for a return engagement as Rowan cut power to braking, swung the ship’s forward gravity field around 180 degrees, and used the forward grav drive to absorb the impact of their descent. River watched with interest as she felt herself go into free-fall, then was caught in the moon’s own gravity and pulled back into her chair. Rowan brought the braking thrusters back online thirty seconds later, by which time they were several thousand feet lower than their original trajectory would have put them. As Rowan swung the drive back around to the ship again, she turned to Devon and smiled, sweetly. “Are we going slow enough now?” “Girl, ni shi bai chi, wo cao ni ba bei zi zu zong, Gan ni lao shi!” he said, a disgusted look on his face. “Hey! You ARE one of my ancestors, AND you’re the one who taught me!” she said indignantly. “In fact, you’re the one who taught me that particular trick!” “I didn’t teach you that trick! I told you about that one time when I HAD to do it because we lost power to the thrusters! It’s an emergency measure! EMERGENCY! Like what you’re ass is going to be in when I tell your Pa about that shen jing bing stunt!” “Gan ni lao ma pi gu,” Rowan muttered under her breath. “Hey! Enough with the potty talk! Your grandmother was a fine and virtuous woman!” He glanced back at River, who was grinning widely. “You just did that to show off for your friend,” he accused. “No, Uncle dear, I did it to cut the amount of fuel we use in entry. By doing that I saved about . . .” “Fifty five point four four cubic meters,” supplied River, still grinning. “Fifty five and a half cubic meters of fuel, which is roughly a hundred and forty credits. Which means we may actually make a profit on this run.” “It ain’t always about the short profit, Dynamite!” he exclaimed. “Your Pa knows enough that a loss one run is a gain the next, and good will lasts beyond both!” “Ain’t he always tellin’ me to ‘conomize?” she countered. “Not when it puts the gorram ship in jeopardy!” he accused. “It wasn’t in no jeopardy!” she insisted. “I still had plenty o’ thrusters!” “What if you overloaded the grav drive, huh?” Devon demanded. “What then, miss smarty-panties?” “Then we have that other grav drive to kick in, if need be,” she said, flatly. “Besides, when should I try that trick, anyway? When I got back-ups, or when I’m spiralin’ outa control and gotta try somethin’ crazy to save our asses?” “It woulda been nice to have known it was comin’,” Devon grumbled. “What? And ruin my surprise?” she said sweetly. “Girl . . . you’re one good gorram reason I never married and had a litter,” he said, shaking his head slowly. River blanched as she inadvertently pulled a thought from Devon’s mind . . . of a time when he was much younger, and he and his brother and his father were all outside of the ship, trying to make a repair before they were caught in a solar flare. Duncan was there – much thinner, with just a layer of babyfat around his face visible through his helmet, but it was definitely Duncan – and a much older man, whose face was lined and tanned with countless hours spent out in EVA suits exposed to strong UV but who bore a resemblance to both boys, especially the eyes, those intense eyes. He was on the aft tower with a toolbag attached to a tether as he was quickly reworking the wiring to the aft steering controls, which you simply had to have in order to enter atmo or do any kind of fine maneuvering, and which had blown clean out with the first unanticipated solar blast that had scragged the power train and fried a dozen systems, most of which could be repaired safely inside the protective hull of the ship: but this one couldn’t. Daddy had bypassed the shielded conduit that led into the microjet casing in favor of a more accessible jerry-rigged configuration which got the job done. He had promised Devon he’d replace it just as soon as they could afford it, but there never seemed to be enough coin left to do it, and it was working, so why fix the roof when it ain’t raining? But then the flare had come and caused a ruckus, knocking them back to emergency power a long way from anywhere and it had to be fixed; and he knew another flare was likely, but it had to be done, and it could be done quick if he and the boys worked together, and the rad levels were decent enough for a short walk so if they hurried they could get the helm back online and at least get further away from the capricious star they had crossed. And they had worked together, Devon just entering manhood and Duncan still a boy, pulling new cable up to the tower and running it through the lower conduit while Angus worked up on the tower to rewire the jets and they had worked so quickly and efficiently that it looked like everything would be okay and then there was a flash and the rad sensors started to get noisy and the warning from the ship’s safety systems was telling them they had about four minutes to get inside before rad max and about the danger of inappropriate charge during storm conditions and Angus shouting for the boys to get clear because he could get finished and inside the lock with a minute to spare if he could work without worrying about them so they hid inside the lock but didn’t cycle because the lock took a full minute to cycle and they didn’t want to leave Daddy outside, that wouldn’t be nice and they laughed about it and then there was a noise and another flash only not from the sun and Daddy was caught in an arc from the charged particles that went from the cable to the box he was working on with his suit in the middle. And how Duncan screamed and Devon didn’t even think but launched himself into the Black yelling for his daddy even while the horrible, horrible arc so jagged like the teeth of a scary monster danced around the suit and Daddy’s body going stiff with the charge twisting violently and silently in the Black as lighting had its way with him and radiation bathed him like rain and he was almost there just another few seconds just another few seconds and I could spit on him from here if I really tried and he’ll be all right if I can get him inside we got that radiation medicine from that Hindu trader and folks get electrocuted all the time and live to tell the tale and he couldn’t wait to be back in the kitchen with Daddy telling this story to some trader over coffee and liquor and laughing and looking at him gratefully for his quick thinking and bravery and only a few more feet and he’d be so proud of him and Duncan would be so jealous but safe and maybe Molly Miller would be impressed enough to dance next time they were on Higgen’s Moon and why was this taking so long and almost there almost there just another few feet and he’s twisting now and the lighting is bright and it might get him but that was God’s will if it happened he wouldn’t let anything happen to Daddy after Momma died God’s will got to be brave just a few more feet and he’s still twisting and that lightning has got his oxy and oh my God’s will and it’s not fair and the tank opens up there should be a sound Oh My God is at work it’s God’s will and I can’t see his face Oh Daddy why can’t I see you’re face and the blast pushes him out fast still twisting Oh My God Duncan God’s will there should be a sound and there is a sound of me screaming and screaming and crying and cursing God and the damnfool didn’t tie his line Oh My God Daddy’s going off into the Black untethered and he’s probably dead can’t be dead Oh My God you bastard Daddy is gone and you left me and took Mama and everything and left me with a lousy little brother and if I can just get to him maybe there’s a chance maybe no jets in the suit Oh God Daddy in the Black untethered damnfool and no jets in the suit and what am I going to tell Duncan no jets in the suit and I hate you God’s will and that cloud is coming and I know it will kill him if I don’t get him and it will kill me and no jets in the suit make a jet in the suit and I can do it and I don’t want to live without Daddy and he’s twisting there untethered into the Black and I can use the suit atmo just cut the hose and I got a jet and dumbest gorram thing I ever heard of and that cloud is going to kill us if I don’t and I don’t want to live without Daddy and what about Duncan who will take care of Duncan and what would Momma say? It’s God’s Will and that ain’t an answer I’m willing to accept and cut the hose and see the air the atmo the breath of gorram Life leaking into the Black his sacrifice to save Daddy and God’s Will and I’m doing it I’m catching up and that gorram storm and Duncan is screaming and screaming and I’m doing it I’m catching up and God’s Will it’s God’s Will that I save him and Oh Jesus Daddy I’m coming your boy is coming and he knew better than to not tie his line and that storm is going to hit Duncan screaming about it and less than two minutes and his sacrifice to the Black if it isn’t God’s will I’ll pray to the Black and no that’s Idolatry and I don’t care if it’s gorram Onanism I’ll do it I swear to God I’ll do it no and no, I’m going to save him this is going to work and plenty of air at least eight minutes in the suit and I pray to Jesus to let this work and let me save my Daddy and it’s closer I can reach out my hand it’s closer and he’ll be so proud of me and it’s going to work and why isn’t he moving he’s still alive and I pray to Jesus and Buddha and Allah and the Virgin and the Bodhisattva but not the Black I’ll pray to them all but not the Black if they save my Daddy I’ll become a priest and a Shepherd and a monk and it’s going to work and monks don’t get any tail and it’s going to work inches away now just inches and the bottle’s empty better get to him quick and that storm is coming and that storm is coming and Duncan is screaming and I can reach out my hand and touch his foot I touched his foot and I’m going to save him and he’s still turning and someone no still twisting and someone’s pulling me back and no the gorram line is taught! No this can’t be God’s will I prayed to you no can’t be Daddy I prayed for you no I prayed to you God’s will Buddha Allah Bodhisattva and the Virgin too no someone help me no flying untethered into the Black I sacrificed to you Oh God’s Will I committed Idolitry God’s Will and they didn’t help me God’s Will and someone’s pulling me back Oh God’s Will and it’s Duncan no no no oh Daddy why God’s Will why the storm and the storm is coming and Duncan is shouting Oh God and his voice is distorted in the headset he’s shouting so loud and the storm and do you got him? And the storm and do you got him? Oh God’s Will and the storm and Devon, do you got him I’m not looking the storm do you got him Oh God’s Will and the storm is here, gorram it and I sacrificed to you gorram it and the storm oh God Devon it’s got you the storm and I’m pulling you I’ll save you Oh God’s Will and I can still see him Oh God’s Will and untethered into the Black and damnfool didn’t tie his line God’s Will and Fuck God and Fuck Buddha and Fuck the Virgin and Fuck the Bodhisattva and Daddy I love you God’s Will and the storm’s got you I’ll save you a tinny voice in my ear like buzzing and God’s Will and I feel arms around me and where is he Devon Oh God’s Will where is he Duncan Oh God’s Will and it hurt you Duncan and I’ve got to tell him got to tell him Oh God’s Will Be I’ve got to tell him God’s Will Be and tell him Daddy’s gone and tell him Oh God’s Will Be Daddy’s gone off into the Black Oh God’s Will Be tell him, tell him he ain’t coming back Oh God’s Will Be the storm and Daddy I love you and you gotta be captain now Dunc and no you’re oldest and no I can’t do it and the doctor says I fried my balls and I love you Daddy and I can’t have kids and I love you Daddy and I’m no good as a man or a captain or a husband and no kids and I love you Daddy and no woman will want me and Dunc’s better anyhow and I love you Daddy and I can love the Black and God’s Will Betrayed me and the Black never has I sacrificed to the Black and I love you Daddy and all I got left is the Black and I can fly oh Jesus I can fly I’m still some use and I love you Daddy and God’s Will Betrayed me and me and the Black are together always and never betrayed me and I failed you Daddy and I love you Daddy and Oh God’s Will Be Done.

*

“River?” she heard a voice. Was it in her head? In her dreams? In her ears? She heard a voice and it was Simon. River sighed with relief. Simon was here. He would take care of her. Simon took care of everything. Through her mental fog the images of her unintentional exploration still whirled, and before she could justly lay claim to conscious thought she murmured: “He was dead. Dead before you got there. No shame. He was already dead.” “River?” Simon repeated, as her eyelids fluttered open, then shut again. “Who’s dead? River, are you home?” “Ding dong,” she said, airily, smiling. Simon didn’t get the joke. He rarely did. “River!” he said. “Come on, mei mei, come on. Wake up. You’re okay. You just blacked out, nothing to worry about.” Her eyes opened suddenly, and focused. Simon’s head was haloed by the dingy lamp above. Like an angel or a bodhisattva. Only with better hair. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated. She reached up, touched his face. “So why are you so worried?” she asked, her voice a little rough. “You screamed,” Simon explained gently. “You were on the bridge and you screamed. Just as Rowan was setting down.” River’s eyes popped wide open. “I didn’t wreck the ship, did I?” she asked before she thought about it. Simon looked at her, breathed a sigh, and nodded curtly. “Yes, the whole thing. Killed us all. We’re all pretty pissed off about it too. We had a meeting.” “I . . . did?” River asked, taking in the new information. The mirth from the McKlintocks stabbed at her like relieved notes of music up and down the scale. “I tol’ you you came in too hard,” Devon McKlintock said, his voice wavering with emotion by just a hair. “Did not!” Rowan’s voice insisted. “That was ‘bout as textbook a landin’ as you could ask!” River sat up a bit, looked around. Nearly every member of the McKlintock family was huddled around the couch in the pilot’s lounge – a tiny kitchenette area where you could grab a nap or a snack on watch. “Just leave her be, kids,” Winnie McKlintock said, with just a touch of grouch in her matronly voice. “She just needs some rest,” Simon agreed. “She’ll be fine.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Just let her rest for a while.” There were murmurs of assent from the McKlintocks, and most of them did indeed leave, with looks of concern and relief. Duncan ushered them out like it had been his idea, and urged them to get to their chores – they weren’t staying in the world more than ten hours. With a last nervous look at River and an understanding look at Simon, he left as well, leaving only Simon and the pilots with her. “Think you need a sedative?” he asked, as he got up and closed his bag. “Unnecessary. Normal functional parameters should return presently. I don’t want to sleep. You may return to your duties,” she said dreamily. Her eyes tracked seemingly at random around the room, skipping to the spaces in between things to see. Rowan looked at her with . . . appreciation for such a profound ability to attract attention, something a child in a big family always respected. Devon saw her with concern, with a hint of wistful and a dollop of relief. “Fine,” Simon said flatly at the dismissal. “I’ll return to my . . . duties.” “I’ll run the postflight,” Devon agreed as the doctor left. He pointed to his niece. “You, Dynamite, get to prep the Peewee for an errand. You an’ Tink get to deliver a package to Milsa and pick up some coin. You should be able to get there, do your business, and get back in about two hours. Ten minutes more than that, and I’ll whup your tail for real. We got a schedule to keep. Time is money, and I’ll take it outa your allowance.” “Take it out of the coin I saved with my brilliant maneuver,” she sassed back. “Just don’t crack up the ship,” he warned. “Do get the job done. And do try to get it done on time.” Rowan looked down at River. “You feel well enough to tag along? The Peewee seats four,” she offered. River’s eyes widened perceptibly. “Could I?” “I’ll let you sit up front. Tink’s a coward.” “The way you fly, he’s just got ruttin’ good sense,” muttered her uncle. “I-I’d love to come. I feel fine, really.” “Might could a little fresh air would do well by you,” admitted Devon, rubbing his stubble-laden chin. “Keep you from any more hystericals.” Rowan nodded, pleased that she had gotten her way. “I’ll do the preflight – you come when you feel up to it. Tink should have the cargo stowed already.” “I should tell my brother,” River said, without a lot of enthusiasm. She knew what he would say. “Why?” asked Rowan, innocently. “You gotta ‘pointment?” “Because . . . he’ll . . . I’ll be there in five.” “Shiny!” Rowan grinned, heading for the shuttle. River closed her eyes again, tried to center herself. It was hard – the ship was abuzz with thought and emotion. Not a little of it involved her. When she had calmed herself a sufficiently, she arose. She was about to head back to the shuttle when she suddenly turned and headed back towards the cockpit. Devon was seated in his normal chair, doing the postflight routine. River entered without him hearing, and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “He would have been proud,” she whispered, and then was gone, leaving the pilot completely confounded and even more convinced that the girl wasn’t quite right. *

*

* The Sky Hawk carried two shuttles. The larger of the two was a heavy cargo shuttle, a Junebug, half again as large as Serenity’s matched set. It had a broad, rounded back and wide rear doors for hauling. The smaller was little bigger than a regular civilian flyer, a little meatier with shielding and larger engines. It was also more aerodynamic, and about twenty years newer than the Junebug. Which made the PeeWee the favorite transportation for the teen-aged McKlintocks. By the time River was strapped in, Tinker had taken a seat in the back, the package to be delivered sitting on the seat next to him, a slightly worried expression on his face. Rowan was running through the preflight routine and the launch sequence, and grinned at River when she strapped in. “You ever fly one of these?” she asked. “Don’t know how to fly,” she admitted. “We sort of skipped Flyer’s Education at the . . . school I went to.” “These things near enough fly themselves,” she said, then proceeded to explain the basic controls. River let her, although she didn’t really need to hear it. She had picked up the basics months ago, scouting around in Wash’s mind during her more lucid periods. “So, watch what I do,” Rowan finished, “and we’ll see about you bringing us back.” Tinker’s eyes grew wide. “Rowan!” he complained. “Dad’s gonna kill you! You can’t let a . . . new flyer take the PeeWee up the first time! Not without . . .” “The supervision of a qualified pilot?” she asked, dryly. “Well . . . an adult pilot.” “Apart from Uncle D, who’s the best pilot on the Hawk?” she asked, haughtily. “You are,” he admitted. “And who’s the most reckless pilot?” “I’m not reckless,” Rowan insisted. “I’m . . . vigorous.” “You’re looney,” Tinker corrected. “And you fly like an old lady.” “I get there in one piece.” “In half the time it should take you,” she countered. “But I get there!” “Have I ever not gotten someplace I’m going?” Tinker groaned. “Just shut up and fly. Clock is ticking.” “Hang on!” she said, disengaging the docking clamps with her feet and keying the thrusters with the thrust of a lever. With her stomach in her throat, the little ship rose into the air, banked, and headed for the horizon. Very fast. “Ro-wan. . . !” Tinker said through clenched teeth. “ Oh, relax, you yangwei ji bai!” she chided. “River’s not complainin’!” “This is shiny!” agreed River, who hadn’t so much as tensed since the first thrust. “See?” Rowan said, quite pleased with herself. “Yeah, an’ she’s clinically brain damaged!” he accused, “which is ‘bout the only kinda folk who ain’t afeared of your pilotin’!” “We’re on course,” Rowan said, ignoring her brother’s protests. “Wanna take the stick a might?” “Can I?” River asked, anvxiously. “Autopilot’s on, long as you don’t wander a hundred yards off course, you got some room to fly,” the young pilot agreed. She nodded. “Go ahead, grab the stick. Just like I showed you. Pitch, yaw, thrust. It’s as simple as breathin’!” River took a deep, excited breath and grabbed the co-pilot’s stick reverently. The stick moved slightly under her grasp, so she took firmer hold. She was flying. It took two and a half seconds for her to realize that it was, indeed, she who controlled the ship. A casual nudge from her wrist, the ship climbed. A twitch of her elbow and the ship listed port. She brought it back true to course and grinned at Rowan. She heard Tinker holding his breath in the back seat, all sorts of doomful situations playing out in his mind. “I’m flying,” she said to herself. Then louder, “I’m flying!” “You surely are, girly,” Rowan grinned back. “Heady, ain’t it?” “It surely is,” River agreed, taking a little more liberty with the flightpath. She made minute corrections, learning the little ship’s reactions to her hands on the control, playing with the throttle until she could feel the parameters within which it operated. Then she started experimenting. With a grin she executed a perfect barrel roll. Tinker screamed in terror at the unexpected move, and his mind raced with the Lord’s Prayer and thoughts of violent death until she settled back into course. “Lord Almighty that was ‘bout the perfect roll, an’ you flyin’ no more’n two minutes!” Rowan exclaimed. “You’re a natural! Try this—” she said, describing another maneuver. Tinker groaned. River grinned. When they set down at Milsa’s Manufactory, at a little village called Greenwood (which was more a hope than a description – River only saw six trees worthy of the name) Rowan declared that River was a naturally talented pilot. “Of course,” she added as she set down on the spindly landing legs, “this is only a midget shuttle, not a real ship like the Hawk. But the basic principals are the same. I’ll let you launch’er when we’re ready to go.” “That was shiny,” River breathed, heart racing. “Like dancing. With engines,” she explained. Serge Milsa ran a multi-factory, a combination machine-shop, fabricator, ceramic kiln, and wood shop that could produce small runs of commonly-needed merchandise to order. St. Albans had only been settled thirty years or so, and there was little in the way of industrial development yet. The population was over eighty percent agrarian, so much of what Milsa made was farming and household implements. But when part of Milsa’s machines broke down, there were parts he couldn’t fabricate himself. His small fabricator, the one used to assemble the most delicate of parts, had burned out its multiactuator assembly. That wasn’t something you could hammer out on an anvil, so Milsa had contracted the McKlintocks to pick up a spare unit and deliver it. Tinker installed it, too, just out of curiosity. While he was doing that for the grateful artisan, Rowan treated River to lunch at Mrs. Charlotte’s Greenwood Café, a sleepy little lunch counter that served sandwiches, noodles, and egg rolls to the townfolk. “You really are a good pilot,” Rowan confided as they worked their way through a huge bowl of buttered noodles and two root-beer floats. “Better’n Tink. Likely better’n Mom and Dad, too. Now y’gotta think up a call sign.” “A what?” River asked, her mouth stuffed with noodles. “Call sign,” Rowan explained. “Every pilot has a nick-name they use on the radio. Keeps things from bein’ confusin’. Otherwise, in busy traffic, someone’d shout for ‘Mohommed’ and sixty pilots’d answer!” “What’s yours?” River asked. “‘Dynamite.’ Uncle D gave it to me, on account o’ how I fly. Kinda explosively, like.” “What’s Devon’s?” “Curly. On account o’ his lack o’ curls. It used t’be ‘Hawkeye’, back when he was the only pilot, but he changed it when he let me start flyin’ with him.” “Shiny,” agreed River, draining half of her float in one long slurp of her straw. She finished up with a gargantuan belch, which earned her a dirty look from the prim Mrs. Charlotte, who was reading a three-week old paper and smoking a pipe at the end of the counter. “Carbonated root beverage and frozen dairy products, melding into a sugary totality which produces a serotonic response,” she said with satisfaction. “And nourishes the soul,” agreed Rowan. “Let’s get some to go for Tink. He won’t have time to eat, if I know my brother. He’ll spend every moment he can screwin’ ‘round with that contraption. Boy’d pass up a pretty girl if there’s a wounded machine next to’er.” “He hasn’t tried to kiss me yet,” River said, matter-of-factly. “He wants to have sex with me, but he’s too polite to take the initiative.” “He’s always been a coward like that,” Rowan agreed. “A real ji bai. I mean, I love’em an’ all, he’s my brother, but he’s—” River let out a little yelp. “In trouble,” she said. “Tink’s in trouble!” she said, a look of anguish on her face. “Someone – there’s a gun involved!” “Sha gua chun zi wang ba dan!” Rowan swore, leaping to her feet, “I can’t leave’m alone for a second! Brothers!” she said with disgust, hand on her gunbelt as she ran for the door. As an afterthought she tossed a few coins on the counter and grabbed River’s hand. “C’mon!” River went, noting idly to herself that she seemed to be more subject to peer pressure than she had thought. But Tinker was in trouble. And she couldn’t let anything happen to Tinker. She hadn’t even kissed him yet.