traveled the world, after all.
The FAF authorities, partially to rid themselves of what was becoming a significant annoyance, granted him immediate approval. Colonel Roland told Lander that he hoped he’d appreciate being able to personally evaluate the sort of high performance equipment being used to protect Earth. Lander was given a physical exam and some simple anti-G training, and then signed a waiver stating that the air force could not be held responsible if anything happened to him.
“So,” Lander asked, “what sort of plane do I get to ride in?”
“A Sylphid,” said Colonel Roland.
“Huh,” Lander responded with a faint smile. “That’s a pretty girly sounding name.” He adjusted his sunglasses and brushed back his hair, which he had dyed black from its natural blond. Blond hair, Lander believed, looked too effeminate.
“ANDY LANDER? NEVER heard of him”
Rei paused while eating his lunch and looked at Major Booker, who was seated across from him. Rei had lost at cards the night before and as a penalty had to buy lunch, but the major’s tray was a modest affair, with just a ham sandwich and a Coke.
“Has he ever even flown before? Why do I have to have this joker in my backseat?”
“Are you going to make me spell it out for you?” said Booker, miserably gnawing on his sandwich. “Orders. As in General Cooley’s. And more importantly, it’s the central computer’s orders too. It went through the personnel files and came up with a list of possible candidates for this duty. Oddly enough, they were all in Boomerang Squadron. Well, I suppose it was an obvious result given the kind of man Lander is.”
The major laid a printout of a current affairs magazine article down in front of Rei. Rei picked it up and skimmed it; it was a diatribe about the United States not using American-made goods anymore. He checked the date on the bottom of the page. The article had been written just six months ago. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the dateline had been decades before that.
“He’s like a relic from the last century. An ideological throwback.”
“Well, he’s not alone. Considering how tense the current international situation is, the fact that a transnational organization like the FAF even exists is practically a miracle. It’s too dangerous to let him wander around here for very long because he can use the material he gathers to stir up all sorts of prejudices back on Earth. So where do you quarantine an ultra-nationalist prick on a fact-finding mission? Say, oh, a squadron isolated from the rest of the normal combat units. Get it now?”
“Shit. I’m getting tired of being the ‘special’ in ‘Special Air Force’...”
Rei was already short-tempered because for nearly a week he had been undergoing a battery of psychological analysis tests conducted by a Dr. Halevy of the Air Force Combat Psychology Research Center. Halevy was supposed to be the leading man in the field of combat psychology, but to Rei it was a pretty pointless distinction. When Rei commented how ironic it was that the doctor spent his days talking about air combat theory while remaining perfectly safe underground, Halevy folded his hands and looked grave. “Lieutenant Fukai,” he intoned, “I’m fighting, too.”
He shook his head and went back to eating his lunch of fried rice and meat loaf.
“Go to General Cooley. Your preflight briefing is at 1440.” The major got up from his chair.
“Yes, sir. This isn’t because I lost at poker, is it?”
Booker gave him a look. “And no matter what Lander asks you, you keep quiet. This is just a simple sightseeing flight.”
Rei shrugged. Then something occurred to him. “Hey, Jack?
Are those sunglasses Ray-Bans?”
Booker picked up his tray. “Nope. Nikons.” Then, a smile playing across his lips, he left the cafeteria.
AFTER A SHORT briefing, Rei boarded Yukikaze. He continued performing the preflight checks on the elevator up from the underground hangar and felt himself calming a little. Having to give a biased journalist from Earth his own personal little flight tour stuck in his craw, but he knew he’d feel better once they were in the air.
After he emerged onto the planet’s surface, a car approached from the side of the shade port and pulled alongside Yukikaze. General Cooley and a man got out. Andy Lander. Lander jovially waved at him. Rei answered with a slight nod.
Lander was built like a wrestler; the flight suit he wore was ill-fitting and did not favor him at all. Major Booker deftly inspected Lander’s suit, then helped him aboard Yukikaze, fastening his shoulder harness and connecting his anti-G hoses.
Engine start. First the right, then the left.
“Take it away, Captain,” said Lander.
“We’ve got ideal weather for a sightseeing flight,” replied Rei.
Emergency generator test. Data link power display control power, on. Head-up display, activated. Flight control check via the indicators. Display, flight computer, check.
Once the check of authority was complete, they taxied onto the runway. The wind was strong, so Rei set the canopy control to BOOST. It lowered hydraulically and locked.
He called the tower for clearance to take off. Clearance granted. Throttle to military power. They began to climb. Rotation. Landing gear up. Flaps up. Hydraulic system set to flight mode, cutting the hydraulic supply from the landing gear and non-flight steering system. Reconfirm flight instruments. All systems normal.
Informing Lander that they would be climbing quickly, he moved the throttle to MAX. The afterburners kicked in and the thrust increased dramatically. Armed with just four shortrange missiles and a gun, unencumbered by additional tanks or equipment, the agile Sylph could climb nearly vertically. Still, he shouldn’t overdo it. Lander groaned. With a sigh, Rei brought them back to level flight. He performed a loose turn onto their flight path, a square of about 250 kilometers per side that would bring them back to their starting point.
“I heard that Faery’s sun is a binary star,” Lander said as he operated a camcorder, “but I can only see one. Just the main star. Wait, I see it. The companion star is that shadow, right?”
“You’ve got good eyes.”
“The camera’s digital viewfinder is picking it up. Can you fly steady like this for a bit without any maneuvering, please?”
Rei didn’t mind that Lander said this with the tone of a hunter ordering his guide. He couldn’t bring himself to be irritated by someone who he didn’t care if he lived or died.
It was quiet for a while.
Then, perhaps bored with shooting his video, Lander began asking all sorts of questions. Where was Rei from? Had he been on Faery long? What did he plan to do when he returned to his native country?
Rei gave suitable, innocuous answers, but when Lander asked him, “Why do you fly?” he was stumped.
“To kill the JAM,” he said finally, after buying some time with the excuse that he had to confirm their heading.
“That’s just the result of your actions, not the cause,” Lander replied. And with that, he’d crudely and unknowingly cut to the heart of the doubt that had been tormenting Rei. Rei tried to ignore him, but Lander continued, unheeding. “You must have a more concrete reason for fighting than that. For Earth, for your country, for your lover, for money, to get back alive, and so on. What are you thinking of when you’re in combat?”
At least that question was simple to answer.
“Nothing,” Rei said. “I don’t think about anything. I’m blank. Here, I’ll give you a taste of what it’s like.”
He gripped the side stick, cutting off the autopilot, and did some subtle footwork. Yukikaze snapped into a turn, executing a series of continuous barrel rolls. Returning to level flight, he performed a four-point roll in the other direction. They rose up vertical to the horizon, then were completely inverted, then vertical again, and finally back to normal. A steep climb that led into a loop. He performed several small, high-G loops, drawing Q-shapes in the sky. He pulled them into one final steep turn, and then they were back on course.
“How’d that feel, sir?” Rei asked.
